If you’ve known me for many years, or if we’re friends on facebook, you may be aware that my birthday was this week. If not, you probably wouldn’t know- I don’t exactly broadcast it.
There was one remaining place in Pittsfield where we had not yet dined, one more jewel to add to our crown: The Trattoria Rustica. We’d heard great things, but their nasty little habit of closing early had kept us on the outside. So we did the unthinkable: we planned ahead.
We actually called and made a reservation in the afternoon for that evening, and it worked so well, we might be tempted to try it again in the future, but let’s not go overboard.
Walking in, we were hit by what was clearly something roasting in sage & rosemary, which I subconsciously decided that I’d be having as a main course. The dining room was dimly lit, but warm, quiet & well-appointed (no chef’s table by the door on MY birthday), furthering the argument for calling ahead.
In the traditional fashion, they dropped a loaf of bread into our laps (not literally. They’re professionals), with a bowl of olive oil. In contrast to most places we’ve been that have done this, they had diced basil in it, instead of parmesan. It was a nice change, and certainly healthier.
We, after much deliberation (and one callback of the waitress to re-recite the specials) decided on the grilled calamari and a salad of field greens and shaved fennel to start. Having previously lived in New Bedford and on Cape Cod, I’d never had calamari that wasn’t deep fried. It was like tuna, only tougher, I was surprised to find. And it should be noted that I ignored Becca’s repeated warnings to stop eating bread, or I’d be too full for the main course (Bah! I say to that).
The main courses came, and true to our relationship style, we split everything, so they set us up with extra plates and all that. We ordered the afore-hinted-at sage & rosemary roasted chicken with broccoli rabe & squash (they were out of polenta), and a goat cheese ravioli with balsamic vinegar and truffle oil. Everything was excellent. The chicken was perfectly roasted (as assessed somebody who can roast a chicken perfectly, if I do say so myself) and the herbs played well off the slight bitterness of the broccilini, and the ravioli- our first foray into goat cheese, was amazingly buttery, and the combination of the tangy sweet of the balsamic and the earthy sweet of the truffle oil (also new to us) made the ravioli almost a dessert. But, with Becca and dessert, almost doesn’t count.
Becca will use any excuse to get a tiramisu, and my birthday was no exception. For my part, I’ll use any excuse to get Becca drunk, and the vino dolce was mine. The tiramisu was (apology in advance) better then my Ma’s, and the vino dolce tasted like a light brandy. We had some trouble choosing, and deferred to the waitress’ suggestion of the best wine to pair with the tiramisu. She was right, it was perfect.
Sure, all of this sounds expensive, and it was. But in lieu of any other birthday gifts, I’ll take a nice dinner for two any time.
I have but one regret for the evening. Much like a well-crafted beer should be enjoyed in a chilled glass, or a hot dog can best be savored at a baseball game, Becca with a buzz on is at her most entertaining in a library. But alas, the Athenaeum closes at five on Mondays, so I had to take my lady home.
