Sunday, January 31, 2010

wolfen moon


Full moons are strange and uncanny. The other night at the restaurant, a Friday night, was the Full Wolf Moon, the biggest full moon of our new year. It was the biggest moon because the moon was at its perigree, or rather , it was mightly close to the earth. In fact, it was its very closest at 4:04 am Saturday morning, bright red Mercury playing sidekick. Not that we were up to see it at 4:04 am. But we did see it at two o’clock in the morning when we rolled home from this Friday night. Friday nights are usually busy nights in any restaurant. And by last Monday, all our reservations were taken, every table and chair accounted for. By Friday afternoon, almost half our reservations had cancelled with no one to replace them. The frigid, painfully cold weather, a car accident, delayed house guests all played a role in our quiet evening.

Despite a half-full dining room (this strange in that it did not mirror that overly full moon), all our guests were lovely and engaging. When there are those mid-winter sub-zero temperatures outside, we always wish for a fireplace, but all the lighted candles and the warmth coming out of the kitchen stand in well. On this quiet winter evening, we get to do what we love best: greeting, toasting, discussing, offering. When we sit down to our own dinner, we toast these Friday night intrepid: The couple here for a birthday, a gift from their daughter. The ski coach and her beau from Quebec letting us choose their dinners along with the wines paired. The university group who tasted everything. The late revelers driving up from Boston. We served them all a smorgasbord of tastes: garlic braised escarole, rolled pork belly stuffed with bay, juniper, and sage and braised in white wine, the calamari roasted in white wine and olive oil and served with a squeeze of fresh lemon, the narrow grilled green onions—sweet and smoky from the cast iron, a sour jam cherry tart made from sour cherries collected over the summer and put up for the winter.

And it is indeed winter. The temperatures dropping by the minute with too little snow to protect us from the fierce wind coming down from the Arctic. The Algonquins named this full moon for the wolves baying and scratching at their tee-pees. On a night like Friday night, we can well imagine being hungry, and needing to come in from the cold.

--Deirdre

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