Portland Indie Wine Festival
wanted to see a natural wine bar in action. So we were off to the Lower East Side.
TEN BELLS
The mysterious, dark restaurant was particularly bacony and garlicky on Thursday night but after an hour, the noise and the their- elbow- in- the -gut -because -the- louts -in- back- of -us- had -no -spatial- sense got, the better of us.
We slurped back some delicious gamay from Christian Venier (Savio Soares, importer) and snuck in a little guerilla questioning to the young woman who asked for the VdT why she was here. "Because this guy I'm meeting suggested it. I think he knows I like organic." Then she asked, "What's a natural wine?"
I'm sure no one on Thursday night ( except Jorge who was working his ass off, could have answered that question). But you know what? Even though I couldn't tolerate the noise, I love it that the place was packed with people who didn't know how good they had it, yet were knocking back.
Just as we escaped, I heard the string bean in back of me say, "I can't stand this wine shit, I need a Dos Equis." Another said, "I want shots."
Next.
As we fought our way through the crowd to the exit, Lisa sighed, "I'm over the noise in New York City. Does anyone enjoy it, or are we just not two years old any more?"
Even when I was twenty-five, I'm not sure that I liked noise. But now that I think of it, back then noise wasn't part of the ambience unless you were in a club and the band was playing.
Between you and me and anyone else, I'm tired of shouting, of having to read lips, of not being able to have real conversation. But does anyone know a New York City low-lit place where one can drink (with delicious food) and actually to the old-fashioned tete-a-tete?
Last week, I was at Verre Vole in the 10th last week, drinking my Hervé Souhaut. I said to my friend Stephen, 'There's no music blaring here, What a relief!" All restaurants in Austria I went were likewise civilized. France, civilized. New York? What is going on, are we as a New York City culture afraid of the intimacy to exist in stillness?
We took advantage of the momentary respite from the drenching rain, and took our imaginary decibel-meter and took a survey.
Little Giant= noise rushed out from the windows.
Intoteca=Open the door, rucus blasted us like white water.
I can't remember the rest of the names but we continued to just open doors to restaurants to rate the decibel level.
Lisa bought a cigarette off of a drunken young woman. The babe took the dollar, and clutching her folded umbrella, teetered off to her next watering hole.
At Spitzer's the decible level was high but manageable, don't know how, because the noise bounces off all of that gleaming white tile like a flubber on the basketball court.
But no, not quite right.
Lisa was hungry. We needed more wine and a little food.
I know! Falai on Clinton.
We get there, a crowd of French long legs and feet caged in sandals were smoking outside. Inside, the kitchen had closed. The GM had no idea who we were, but he said follow me, and lead us across the street Falai's Panetteria. It was cute. It was dark. It was quiet. There was a corner. Maybe it helped that Alberto Taddei, their wine director was sitting outside and paved the way for us inside. But I had a feeling even without that connection we would have not been rushed and treated like princesses.
I was transported back to times in Italy when Skinny and I would be the only one in a restaurant and no one rushed us to leave. Last night, the Panetteria
Soup sang nourishment. The salad was delicious, Lisa loved the noodle of her pasta dish. Alberto had us try his wine from his family's Marche estate Selvagrossa.The sangiovese/merlot/cab franc 2007 blend. Velvety, Nicely made. Kind of knock it back with anything kind of vino. By the time we left at 1am, we still weren't rushed. This was our Wizard of Oz moment.
We had found a tiny hilltop town with the perfect restaurant, and it was just blocks away from home.
