A (New) Haven of Good Taste

This weekend, I went to New Haven, Connecticut for the first time.  I was invited for a visit by new friend, David (aka, my “new man-person,” as my friend Christian put it, since we don’t quite yet have a term that appropriately describes the status of my relationship with David).

David and I spent Saturday afternoon exploring Yale’s gorgeous campus. I spent all of my undergraduate and law school years at McGill University in Montreal, and I always wondered how differently my life might have turned out had I applied and been accepted to Yale.  As I stood there, in the shade of the neo-gothic spires rising before me, admiring the beauty of the ivy slinking up the intricately detailed murals, I couldn’t help but think, “Gosh, if only I had gotten in here and taken on about $180,000 or so in debt, I too could have been thrown into a snake pit of hyper-competitive, type-A, over-achieving shills of ambition—also known as law students—who would have made me feel intellectually inadequate, but in such a classic and beautiful setting!" 


Look Ma, no law school debt! 

On Saturday night, David took me to a Spanish restaurant. Since, I had never been to New Haven and wasn’t familiar with the quality of the city’s gastronomy, I didn’t quite know what to expect. But I was pleasantly surprised.

As we were about to enter the restaurant, we caught a glimpse of Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalist and author of the New York Times best-selling non-fiction tome, The World is Flat: A Brief History of the 21st Century, Thomas L. Friedman, exiting with his lovely wife on his arm.


Hello, I have a Pulitzer Prize. Also, I love tapas.

By the way, have you ever noticed that there are certain prizes that, once someone has received one, for the rest of his life, that person is no longer just “John Q. Smith,” but rather, “John Q. Smith, Blah-Bah-Di-Bah-prize-winning massage therapist,” or whatever? But it only seems to work with prizes of a certain prestige level. Like, you’ll never hear “And now, Quebec-regional-intermediate-level-Japanese-speaking-contest-prize-winner, Robert Keller, demonstrates the proper use of Okatsune shears for traditional Ikebana.” 


Okatsune 6 3/4" World Class Ikebana Shears

Anyhoo, back to Connecticut.  We took the presence of Tommy Friedman (as I refer to him, since I like to keep it REAL) as a good omen. And we were not disappointed. Everything about the restaurant was impressive—from the décor, to the service, to the food. Even the cocktails! (I had three drinks with dinner, whereas David—notwithstanding the fact that (1) we were in Connecticut and (2) David is a WASP—had only one drink. So take that, WASP-stereotype propagators!)  To be specific, I sampled a sangria as a pre-dinner cocktail (potent!), moved on to a caipirinha with my appetizer (knock-me-on-my-ass good!), and, as an accompaniment to my main course, topped things off with a refreshing glass of white Rioja (outstanding!). (Clearly, I was not the designated driver.)  As for David’s mojito, it was strong and delicious.  (Just like David—hey-OH!)

The food itself was also extraordinary, albeit not really Spanish.  More like “Spanish-ish.” David had an appetizer of shrimp and scallop ceviche, which, technically, is Mexican. But this was Connecticut, so to them, the main thing was that the dish came from a country where people have “darker skin.”  Or so I'm told.  My starter, meanwhile, was lamb cannelloni.  Not even close to Spanish, but very tasty, so who cares?  After all, Italy is on the same continent as Spain.  Also, they were both fascist dictatorships back at one point, so lighten up, nit-pickers!

The main courses were also out of this world.  I had the cod, or as it’s called in Spanish, “bacalao,” which is a strange, Portuguese-sounding word that I love saying over and over again, very loudly.  To me, it sounds like a Brazilian person shouting for help. “BACALAO! BACALAO! Deese a woman at Copa Cabana—she need a lipo, right away!” 


"Just keep walking and pretend like you didn't see that.  BACALAO!"

Where was I?  Oh yeah, the main courses.  David had the red snapper, which was very firm and moist.  (Just like David—hey-OH!)

(OK, I’ll stop now.)

But I think my favorite part of the meal was the pre-appetizer, which came “compliments of the chef,” as our waiter informed us.


The pre-appetizer of choice for tiny, tiny people in New Haven.

I’m not sure what the correct Spanish term for this dish was, so I will just refer to it as “mini-bolas de queso fritas,” which translates as “mini-fried-cheese balls.”

Sounds much better in Spanish, right Tommy?


Si Señor.  Me gustan las mini-bolas, y la tierra es plata!