Pre-Christmas Dinner

In the week before Christmas, we took a little break from the mad flurry of giftmaking (because nobody wants a purchased gift from artists. How gauche...) and set out to view Christmas decorations around town. We did not do this on foot, for that would be insane, what with evening temperatures reaching the positively balmy mid-teens that week.

It struck us as amusing that the same populace that created graphic scenes of mutilation on their front lawns on Halloween would have such subdued and tasteful Christmas decorations. (For in-depth descriptions of creative use of food coloring, corn syrup, hatchets and strobe lights, you'll have to wait 'til next October...) Wreaths, bows, white lights... hardly any giant, inflatable snowmen or Santas. And, not having really gone by Park Square in the evening, we had yet to see the beautiful tree alight there, so we made the pilgrimage.

After having feasted our eyes, it's not hard to imagine what we next did. We had been hearing about Elizabeth's, a middle-of-nowhere bistro that we'd often driven by, but never noticed. Word-of-mouth having never yet failed us, we stopped in.

There are two floors, and half of the ground floor is the kitchen, separated by a four-foot wall. We were greeted with nervous looks from the staff when we said we did not have a reservation, until Tony (who is co-owner & co-head chef with his wife, ironically named Elizabeth) asked if we were okay with the chef's table. Of course we were.

Usually, the chef's table is the best, or worst table in the house, depending on your attitude, and this was no exception. It was crammed between the kitchen, stairway, entrance and major foot traffic lane for the waitstaff. We were alternately buffeted with bursts of heat from the open kitchen and gusts of arctic air from the entrance. In truth, we didn't notice at all once the food started arriving. A shared salad of greens, fruits, vegetables & cheeses (that's right, plural cheeses), with in-house baked bread. We got a whole carmelized onion to share, which is like an Awesome Blossom for people who don't want to die. Yes, we understand that none of this is unusual, but it's the sheer quality of the food that sets it apart.

We each got a pasta dish, Becca's baked with sweet peas and another few cheeses (I'm not sure if they ever use less than three...) and mine with marinara and locally-made sausage. As things slowed, Tony came and sat with us, and we discussed things like the early dinner hours of Americans and the merits of corned-beef hash from one place to the next. In his opinion, the Moonakis Cafe in Waquoit has the best in the world (can you disagree?), but a close second is a tiny place in Ashfield (about 45 minutes from us) that we'll have to try soon, but that's another date night, I suppose.