Taking the North Fork by Storm
Andy and I made our rather long-awaited trek to the North Fork this weekend for wine tasting and fancy dinner (because NYC simply doesn’t afford us sufficient opportunity for hedonism and self-indulgence). We stopped at Lieb Family Cellars (and left with a case), Macari (half case) and Shinn Estate (only a couple of bottles, but had we been planning to stay over, their farmhouse would unquestionably have been my first choice).
Because the tasting rooms were observing winter hours, we had to stop sipping shortly after 5pm. (You can’t imagine how beautiful the sun was setting behind the tree line.) So we showed up at the North Fork Table & Inn an hour early and had an entire room of the very romantic restaurant entirely to ourselves for the first part of the meal (not to mention control of the fireplace, a bonus on a 20-degree day).
Andy had the fluke sashimi starter (with rosy grapefruit tucked underneath) and the Long Island duck breast. I had the house made pâté (with Buddha’s fingers, kumquats and something else that I can’t remember) and the venison. (Travelling light, as always.) We washed it down with a Bedell cab franc (from Cutchogue, which we’d just passed through). Then – only because they made us (it was a prix fixe menu) – we had apple crêpes and a homemade ice cream sandwich.
The food was delicious. The appetizers were unique and thoughtfully crafted and very tasty. The meat dishes were very tender. Our only minor kvetch was that our entrees were a tad salty for us. But not salty salty – like the red sauce at a crappy Eye-talian restaurant. Just a tad. The Bedell was good, although not as cab francky as we expected. (I go in for that formaldehyde aftertaste, myself.)
All in all, a terrific experience.
For what it’s worth, our Zipcar, a Honda hybrid named Inge, beat the pants of the Prius we took on our last Zip adventure – and that’s coming from a person with a bias against Hondas. The Prius made me nervous. I never felt that I had enough power to jet out into an intersection or haul it up a hill. Plus the controls in a Prius are non-intuitive and irksome. Inge had an actual key for her ignition – ah, the days of youth! – and, while she was no road monster, I felt confident that when I hit the gas she would, too.
(Above: The North Fork Table, house made pâté, fluke sashimi, duck breast, venison with red cabbage)
