Wednesday, January 25, 2012

What I talk about when I talk about eating at Nightwood

I have quite romantic feelings towards Nightwood. Eating there feels like wearing scarves—it’s elegant and sophisticated, but in an approachable way that works with my scuffed boots. Everything about Nightwood speaks to me and makes me feel at ease: the changing seasonal menu, the wood beams, the local philosophy, and the simplicity of delicious food. I feel good about eating there, and, when I think about it, this is what I want to eat:
On cool mornings, I crave the best oatmeal Ive ever had, rich and creamy with chunks of juicy green apple.
On warm afternoons, I want the tart bite of crispy thin slices of fried Meyer lemon.
On cold nights, nothing spells comfort like grilled cheese and tomato soup, topped with fried artichoke.
These dishes stay with me; my mind lingers on them long after Ive lingered over the last bites. Candlelight, handwritten menus, heavy silverware! Cest lamour, no?