I scoffed at that and, with a chutzpah that astonishes and amuses me now, announced that I didn't want something I could get at any grocery store. This was meant to be a special occasion and I was therefore ordering the pan-seared filet mignon. At $18.95 it was an astonishing amount for us to spend on a single meal out at the time. (Nowadays it seems to be simply the going rate at even the most lackluster eateries.) But I carefully reasoned that it really wasn't that much more than the chicken dinner and furthermore, I was going to pay for it. An offer even Judy couldn't refuse, and irrefutable reasoning to boot.
The fact that I was willing to spend that amount of money on the meal suggests that what we were out celebrating, in fact, was my having gotten a job.
Thankfully, my willfulness on this occasion was rewarded. Two pan-seared medallions arrived on the plate, in a pool of dark portobello brandy demi-glace, accompanied by mashed potatoes garnished with thin, light and crispy vegetable "fries", and grilled summer squash. The tenderloin was as rare as I had requested it, pink and juicy, of the quality that elicited a many groans of pleasure and still sits happily in my memory as one of the best meals I've ever had.
Admittedly we don't go back to the cafe as often as we should, or would like to, given the quality, but we have never been disappointed on any of our return trips. That time we were in the front restaurant but generally we dine in slightly more casual bar area; I say "slightly" because the elegance of the decor still puts most bars in the area to shame, but the welcome we always receive from staff makes us feel very much at home. There is never the least snootiness about the restaurant or its staff.
Yesterday Judy and I were driving home from a gorgeous and memorable day spent Jamestown, RI. We had packed a picnic lunch: potato salad Judy had made the night before, her best ever; boston lettuce from the co-op and tender chard leaves from our garden; chopped fresh tomato with olive oil, parmesean and fresh basil as a dressing; and Wild Planet sardines in spring water (mild and slightly sweet, similar in flavor to tuna, they were a revelation compared to the oil-packed variety and the first time I've ever enjoyed sardines). After a day of hiking on the island, exploring graffitti-covered Fort Wetherwell (which has become a strange sort of work of art in its own right), discovering live starfish in a crevasse between the rocks and looking out over the intensely blue-green water foaming against the granite cliffs of the island, etc; the last trace of lunch was mysteriously vanished from our bellies. We were ravenously hungry in the way we can only be when we've spent the day in the hot sun and strong salt-laden breezes of the ocean. Which meant that we wanted seafood; good, fresh seafood, thank you very much, and not fried. Yes, I know that a piece of fish can be both "fresh" as in freshly caught, and "fried", but I've never understood the appeal of destroying a perfectly good piece of fish by coating it in batter and dunking it in a vat of hot oil. (On the other hand, I have polished off plates of potatoes and onions given the same treatment. Call me a hypocrite.)
We left the island, not seeing anything that appealed to us, drove to Narragansett and were given directions to a seafood place in town that the locals assured us was a good one; upon arriving we were informed that all the seafood was fried. We were by now hungry enough to rip open a box of oyster crackers simply to have something in our stomachs.
"We could go to Westerly," one of us said to the other.
"We could," the other replied.
Downtown Westerly offers a plethora of dining options; and we probably went to every one of them (excluding those we assumed we could never afford), looked at the menus, hesitated, changed our minds, quibbled with each other and wandered from place to place; none of them were quite hitting the spot, mentally at least. Only those damned oyster crackers kept our blood sugar levels from plummeting to dangerous lows.
"We could go to 84 High Street again," one of us said to the other. "We've never been disappointed with it."
"We could," the other replied. "The portions are always generous."
And there we were, perusing the menu; if either one of us balked this time our only option left would have been the rotisserie chicken from the grocery store. Fortunately our eyes lit upon the "thai shellfish stew: shrimps, scallops, littlenecks and crabmeat in a red thai coconut cream broth with julienned vegetables, tomatoes and roasted red peppers." While we waited on the mail course we slackened our hunger and thirst with rosemary-flecked bread, garden salad (all dressings made in-house; I chose blue cheese), beer (Judy) and root beer (me.) The beer menu offers several craft beers on draft as well as Guiness (my partner eventually went with a black-and-tan); but the root beer deserves special mention. I don't drink alcohol, except the occasional sip from Judy's glass, and finding non-alcoholic options when dining out, aside from water, iced tea, and mass-produced sodas can be a bit of a challenge. 84 High Street offers Saranac root beer, and any establishment that offers non-alcoholic options, besides juice and water, so I'm not left staring at Judy whilst she enjoys her Guiness automatically gets points from me.
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As it happens, that rotisserie chicken, which I'm sure is much better than anything I could get at the grocery store, is now $15.99, and the filet mignon medallions are $24.99.
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