I always have a hard time picking what to order from a menu because everything looks too good. (I feel sorry for the waiters who serve me.)
That’s why I love Tapas—you don’t have to pick one dish. You can have many. Even better, when you go with lots of people, making our selections is a group activity—and you can debate the merits of all the flavors.
Last night Terri and I went to dinner with our favorite dining-out group—Judy and Lew, and Leslie and Ed. (Elane and Fred couldn’t make it, because Elane wasn’t feeling well).
We went to Peniche Tapas in White Plains. Our second group visit to Peniche was even better than the first.
We had several small plates, each with intense flavors concentrated into bite-size portions. Everything was shared. And everything was debated. The more wine we had, the louder (and funnier) the debates got.
We started with a Tortilla Espanola—a slice of potato pie with a bacon-like essence baked in, and a swirl of aioli on top.
Next up, Romeo & Juliet flatbread—quince marmalade atop a freshly baked flatbread, with Manchego cheese melted on top. This was my favorite dish of the night.
We had an endive salad with goat cheese. In my book, you can’t visit a Spanish restaurant without ordering Serrano Ham and a cheese plate.
The waiter insisted we try their evening special bbq beef, which came with a jicama cole slaw, and he was right to have forced us to order it.
The hit of the evening was a sweet potato and pecan dish called Calabaza. It had a maple syrup glaze that was so delicious I could’ve dove into the dish after it was done. We ordered a second helping.
In the real world, I'm a marketer. So anytime I experience good customer service I become enamored of the brand. After we swore we couldn't eat or drink anymore, the waiter walked over with what looked like a giant glass gravy separator. In fact, it was a large decanter with a tapering spout coming from the bottom of the bulb. Inside was a red liquid that the waiter told us was a Spanish champagne.
One by one our waiter made us tilt our head backward as he held a napkin under our chin and poured into our mouths a swig of this delicious bubbly nectar. Then he left the bottle (or is it a decanter?) on the table for us to finish. No one quite got the hang of how to pour the champagne. On the positive side, no one got red champagne on their clothes.
Three hours and multiple dishes later, our wonderful meal came to end. But the memory of the flavors linger.
Do you have a favorite Tapas?
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