Detour by Demand

Before we move on to the third round of the J.O., we wanted to respond to constructive criticism by the Country Lady. She suggested that we broaden the scope of this missive to include reviews of restaurants where some of us, or some of you, dear Audience, have eaten together.

We concur and therefore, belatedly but nevertheless, wish to discuss a meal eaten in NYC with the Country Lady, the Step-Daughter and the A-Girl at I Sodi. Having eaten in more than a few restaurants in our fast-paced life and some more than once, we have noted that each restaurant has a personality derived from its owner/chef/server(s), location, cuisine, cost, or some combination of these factors.

Although traditionally this personality becomes more obvious and ingrained with time, like children, a restaurant’s personality is normally apparent from the first day. One of our fondest and longest restaurant relationships was with Jean-Claude’s and despite rave reviews early after opening (perhaps too early for their own good), that restaurant’s early reputation for Gallic humor and comprehension of dining as theatre survived longer than the first chefs.

Also like children, no matter how beautiful or how well-dressed is the restaurant, a lack of personality makes for an uncomfortable encounter. We felt this overwhelmingly at I Sodi, which is located on Christopher Street, oddly enough (we say this because this particular block of Christopher has not traditionally supported fine dining…). Odd also was the clientele when we arrived with the A-Girl.

Now, thinking back, as we are sure you are, loyal Readers, to our list of factors determining restaurant personality, one could imagine that at such an address certain elements may be apparent, even if welcomed (although as a gay man, we’d say that NYC restaurants better always be welcoming if they know what is good for them). However, this is a relatively small space where the majority of the tables run down one wall facing the bar and bar stools that run along the other wall.

We were seated on the banquette side of the table facing the bar where our night’s entertainment (the Country Lady and the Step-Daughter had their entertainment elsewhere which is why we were dining a bit later than normal) was the waistband and thong strap on the large backside of an otherwise well-dressed woman who was hitting hard on a tattooed stone butch while the first woman’s female partner looked on with distaste.

From this performance we were periodically interrupted by the maitre d’ squeezing in between our table and the next to chat loudly but intimately with the two women seated next to us. The interruptions may have been more interesting for the A-Girl than for us as she is more of an old movie fan because one of the women was dressed as Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby, but because she was roughly the age of Mia today, she thankfully was wearing the lace baby-doll over jeans. Her dining companion was also a woman of a certain age, a bottle-red (god, does that term exist?) with too much costume jewelry. Regardless, the maitre d’ was mesmerized or trapped, whichever, it is not important. He simply could not get more crammed in between the tables. Our primary view for the time waiting for our dining partners was two inescapable derriere views!

When our partners did arrive, we began to order wine and lots of hors d’œuvres including grilled sardines and bean dishes. The wine list was almost exclusively Italian with a strong focus on Tuscan wine to match the food. We must beseech the Country Lady and the A-Girl to remind us what we ate aside from several pastas including the speciality of the house, an artichoke lasagne and a traditional lasagne. There was a third pasta and a bottle of red wine following a white. We should have taken a second of the white as the red was unremarkable despite sending back the recommended red to choose another.

Needless to say, we were not impressed although the space was well built – lots of lovely white marble and beige wood, but we were distracted from the beauty of the back of the bar because of bad bottle arrangement. The service became better with time (as the restaurant cleared out and we were the only ones eating) and the noise level was not too bad. However, to paraphrase the Personal Historian, if one must travel through the city to eat Italian, then travel to Barboné at Avenue B and 12th Street. With a fine cellar and gentle prices, that trattoria is hard to beat.

Here’s to the ladies that will fill in my blanks!!