The dining room of a restaurant presents a variety of human condition and relationship. Every modification that sociability has introduced among us can be found at the pleasures of the table: love, friendship, business, speculation, power, opportunity, ambition, even conspiracy.
Cathy, Peter, Doug — dear friends, all favorite dining companions — and I are ushered into the warm, apricot-lit dining room of Scalea’s and sit in a cozy corner at a linen-clad table set with simple elegance. The table directly next to us is empty, unusual in this popular restaurant on a Friday night but just as well as the four of us are given to bouts of raucous laughter and blue conversation.
Renee, our server, appears tableside to welcome and offer the featured entrée. He, like most of Scalea’s wait staff, is a “career” server — polished, professional and very knowledgeable. We all decide on seafood and salads. Renee chooses a wine from their extensive yet friendly wine list that will complement our food. We settle into conversation about the abortion pill and Cathy and Peter’s recent trip to London.
Crisp, chilled Caesar Salad and a seared tuna appetizer arrive. A 1998 Barbera d’ Alba is poured, and we toast to freedom of choice and the Queen of England.
At the back of the restaurant are several booths of couples, married is my guess, as they haven’t had much to say to each other. Nearby are two women sitting across from a man: Tina, Leah and Marcus (“the ladies call me Devante”) in town for a trade show. “You don’t look like a player” the women gush as they not-too-shrewdly play Marcus into picking up the tab.
In the next booth are two women, both resembling nuns out of habit, engaging in a hushed, spiritless exchange of words. Over there are two lovers. Pleasure shines in their eyes, the man eager, the woman coquettish, both of them hungry. The tone of their conversation reveals their recent past together and prophecies their future.
The wait staff weaves quietly among them all with the beautifully choreographed skill of a winning basketball team. Cathy, Peter, Doug and I have slipped in to our usual intellectual intercourse that’s part of the foundation of our relationship: good-natured verbal darts, self-deprecating humor and clever quips.
Dinner arrives: Roasted Yellowtail snapper and garlic whipped potatoes atop a light, yet complex reduction of red wine vinegar. The wine Renee has chosen is perfectly matched. After a few moments of quiet, sensorial pleasure, we resume our conversation. Peter is now quoting Woody Allen.
We all but lick the plates clean and decide to move down to Scalea’s handsome, well-appointed bar for coffee. A mixed group of friends fill most of the seats. Jill, Patty and Terry conduct a cocktail-and-cigarette therapy session on relationships, lost loves and lost-in-love.
General Manager Chris Helms stands poised and alert while Scalea’s owner Dean DiGiacinto moves among the patrons, chatting them up with the same comfortable ease that his restaurant exudes. Perfect hosts of a nightly party, they provide the elements necessary for longevity in this business: sincerity, order, skill and delicious food to excite the palate.
We say our goodnights to all, arms wrapped around one another, soul and body enjoying a particular well-being from the pleasures of the table.
This article appears in Oct 25-31, 2000.
