My wife and I go out to dinner, a lot. Not out of necessity. She loves to cook and is very good at it. I’m not, but I’m a willing assistant and clean-up man. No, like many in our generation, eating in restaurants is a primary form of entertainment and a focal point of our social life. 

One of the best books I’ve read in the past year is A Gentleman in Moscow. Amor Towles’ story of Count Rostov serving a sentence of house arrest in a luxurious hotel is brilliant in both concept and execution. Captive in the Metropol Hotel, dinner every night for the Count amounted to leaving his room to eat in the opulent restaurant of his luxe prison -- a spot where, over his long term, he was at various times on both a guest and member of the service staff. 

Towles’ earlier and equally charming novel Rules of Civility contains a passage that provoked me not simply to re-read it several times, but to actually write it down:

“But for me, dinner at a fine restaurant was the ultimate luxury. It was the height of civilization. For what was civilization but the intellect’s ascendancy out of the doldrums of necessity (shelter, sustenance and survival) into the ether of the finely superfluous (poetry, handbags and haute cuisine)? So removed from daily life was the whole experience that when all was rotten to the core, a fine dinner could revive the spirits.”

It is in this view of dining in a restaurant as a cultural phenomenon of our age that I want to share a recent experience that was a sublime example of the art form. We were with a large group—about a dozen couples—playing golf and tennis at a well-known, upscale East Coast resort. This group of friends from around the country has been gathering here each winter for the past decade. One of our friends booked tables for us one evening at a restaurant that was new to most of us.

Approaching the place did not raise expectations: it was located in a strip center, surrounded by retail stores that were closed for the evening. Everything changed, however, as soon as we walked to the front door of the establishment. We were greeted by the chef/owner, a beautiful young woman wearing a white apron over a t-shirt and jeans. She welcomed us, not merely with words, but with a hug! Not an awkward, perfunctory hug, but a warm genuine hug that said, “I don’t know you, but I am truly delighted you chose to come here tonight.” Everyone in our large party got this hug.

The place was not large. We were seated at two separate long tables. There were a few other diners there that night, mostly couples at two-tops, and I’m sure they were not thrilled to see our entourage arrive. But we co-existed in the space with no one having any reason for complaint.

The room was done primarily in white, including not just the walls and ceiling, but the table cloths and slip-covered chairs as well. The lighting—something my wife is very particular about—was just right: subdued and calming. In the center of the room was a black grand piano, played beautifully throughout the evening by a gentleman who took few, if any, breaks and who looked up from his keyboard only when someone dropped a bill in his jar. The rustic farm table was set sparsely, with thick linen napkins and real silverware, the kind rarely encountered anymore, pieces of heft that feel like tools to be yielded with skill. The overall effect was a warm, peaceful setting for good food, drink and fellowship.

The servers displayed the same warmth and charm as the chef. The woman who took care of our table was professional and knowledgeable while at the same time personable and witty. She was totally entertaining.  Another visit would be merited if only to learn more of her African-American family’s fascinating history in the area since Colonial times.

The menu was short: five starters and five mains. The choices were well balanced, as was the expertly crafted wine list. Every dish offered was ordered by at least someone among our group and no one had anything other than positive comments about anything we were served. Handling a large group can be a challenge for any fine dining restaurant. Our food arrived at an appropriate pace, and no one was left waiting. The small kitchen was partly visible through curtained windows, an interesting alternative to the theater kitchens that dominate many new restaurants. My food on this evening was absolutely delicious.

A request from some in our party for separate checks was met, not with the all too common refusal, but with gracious compliance. It is worth noting that, cost being an unreliable indicator of quality, our checks for this wonderful evening were surprisingly modest, and none of us felt the cost had been more than fair.

Our group departed a couple of hours later, sated and charmed, having thoroughly enjoyed our time with each other and with our newly-met hosts. We were thanked sincerely for our visit and issued a plea for a return. 

Just as Towles’ books have been highlights of my recent reading, this evening was one of my most pleasant and memorable dining experiences, an ultimate luxury, exactly as he described it.

Note: I have refrained from naming names here, but have dropped  a few clues. If you are  interested in visiting this special place, message me and I’ll spill the details.