(This is a copy of an entry from my LiveJournal; apologies to my friends who’ve already seen it.)
Mrs. Chef mentioned the other day that she wants more romance in her life. So I left work around lunchtime yesterday and went home to spend the rest of the day with her. We decided to have a leisurely lunch while we figured out what to do next, and we went to Terilli’s, a nice little Italian restaurant in the neighborhood where we used to live before Chef Jr. was born.
Terilli’s is one of those places that is just jammed at night - wall-to-wall people talking really loud over the live music, standing between the tables, seeing and being seen. NOT a relaxing place to eat, which is a shame because the food is really good.
Having lunch there on a weekday was a revelation. There were a couple of ladies-who-lunch out on the patio, but we had the inside of the place completely to ourselves - and the whole front wall, above the banquettes, was glass that was so spotlessly clean that it was like being outside without sacrificing the air-conditioning, especially with the street sounds filtering in through the open door.
It’s funny… when a place is primarily a NIGHT place, being in there in the daytime is kind of strange. The restaurant looked vaguely hung over. Its black ceiling and garish artwork put me in mind of a hard-partying girl who spent the night somewhere she wasn’t expecting to, and now is waiting for a morning cab to take her home so she can wash off the makeup and change out of last night’s little black party dress.
We ate very well and took our sweet time, just like the ladies-who-lunch outside. We chatted with the waitress. We gazed at each other and smiled. We’d noticed on the way in that hanging around the edge of the patio at regular intervals were plastic bags full of water, and wondered what they could be for. I recalled a household hint claiming that if you put jugs of water around the edge of your yard, dogs will refuse to go to the bathroom there; I wondered aloud if the water bags were intended to keep drunken revelers from peeing on the retaining wall, eliciting a giggle from Mrs. Chef. We asked the waitress and it turns out they’re there to keep the flies away - with their compound eyes and the distorted refractions coming through the water, the flies get disoriented and won’t come over. It must work - we saw only one fly the whole time we were there. (I presented my theory about repelling drunks with full bladders to the waitress, and she said that on the contrary, the water bags seem to attract drunks. But not to pee. They come over, heft the bags, and mutter slurredly, “Where’re the goldfish?”)
We were having such a good time that we decided to extend it by having coffee and dessert out on the patio. I had a gelato sundae and Andi had flan, and we both had several cups of really good coffee with just a hint of cinnamon. We held hands and talked about anything and everything. The ladies-who-lunch kept looking over at us and smiling. I looked at Mrs. Chef and said, “I could really get used to this - let’s be rich so we can just roll over in bed every morning and say, ‘where shall we have lunch today?’” She smiled at me and I don’t know when I last saw her look so relaxed and happy.
When the check came, I looked at my watch and was astonished to discover that we’d spent three hours at the restaurant. Then I opened the little wallet the check comes in and was astonished again. With tip, that lunch cost eighty bucks. And it was worth every penny to feel like honeymooners again. I signed the bill with a flourish and took my wife home to do what honeymooners do until the last possible moment before we had to go pick up our son from daycare.
A magical afternoon.