Real silver silverwear.
Unique, signed water glasses handmade in Murano.
The ceiling is ugly.
The menu for women has no prices on it.
The three kinds of bread are all made in-house.
They won’t take away your partner’s last plate until you’re done as well.
They brought us an extra consume with a fishball in it.
The musak is awful.
If you don’t order dessert, they bring you a bunch of marble-sized cookies instead.
Since it was winter, we didn’t get the one balcony table, but we got the indoor one right next to it. Near the end of our meal, a couple was seated across from us, and the woman requested that they get a different table. See, theirs was a wall bench facing ours. So the next couple that sat down said, “Oh, it’s like being in the movies.”
I guess we were the feature entertainment.
RJ and I fulfilled a long-held dream by having dinner at Da Fiore–you know, bucket list kind of thing. Someone had given us their cookbook years ago, and we often used an apartment just down the canal; we could see the balcony table from our window. My parents pitched in some birthday money so we could afford it, and that’s where I got to have my birthday dinner. They even gave me a copy of the menu with “Buon cumpleano” scrawled across the top.
Mmmmm, spiedini di ostriche fritte con salsa di zabaione salato! Tagliolini gratinati con scampi e radicchio rosso di Chioggia! Sogliola ricomposta alla mediterranea con pomodori canditi e olive! Aren’t you just drooling? That’s fried oysters with sauce, pasta baked with radicchio and shrimp, and sole with candied tomatoes. Plus the fishball soup.
A couple days later we ran into the same couple who thought we were a movie. “How was your dinner at Da Fiore?” we asked.
“Terrible! It sucked!” the guy said with his lovely Italian accent. The woman laughed and beamed. We wished we could be their friends.
And I bet you thought I’d just post some photos of plates of pasta and tell you how delicious it was.
This is the card RJ made for me, promising a birthday dinner at Da Fiore.