Dinner at Rudy’s Eat and Drink
This post will be a real test for me because my beloved camera passed away in the middle of our meal and unfortunately I have been unable to revive the poor thing. I know that a good food writer should be able to make your mouth water without photos so let’s see how I do in the last half of this post.
The occasion was a special one as J1 had requested that the four of us dine together at Rudy’s Eat and Drink AS his birthday gift. I was surprized as we took our seats, that the restaurant was not busier. Perhaps the fall-out from this “Jetless” time is more significant than I predicted. This allowed us to choose a cozy booth where we settled in for pre-dinner cocktails. J2 chose a “Dark and Stormy” which I thought was in keeping with the old school atmosphere of the place. J1, who is currently studying to become a brew-master, went to the bar to survey the beer taps and fridges directly before making his selection.
First course were some munchies to stimulate the appetite. The handsome server was smart enough to place the hand cut potato chips down in front of J2 and I. We both consider ourselves kettle chip aficionados. The plate was heaped with perfectly cooked centre cut chips and when I say “perfectly”, I mean quite well cooked by most standards. The extra cooking time means that the gorgeous brown colour of the sugars were revealed and the chips were especially sweet and nutty. The glistening salt that had been dusted over them meant that the expertly balanced sweet and salty taste that I crave, was achieved.
The only dish that I had tasted on a previous visit was the tuna tar-tare and this order was consistent in its presentation. The tuna itself was fresh, cold and silky and was enhanced by the crunchy cucumber discs that it was presented upon. Garden-fresh tomato bruschetta rounded out the choices.
At about this time, the parade of entrees bean to arrive. First up was my gnocchi which I have to say I was under impressed with. I put this down to my own ignorance. Why would I order a regional Italian dish in a retro chop bistro like this?
The rest of the entrees were exceptional though (and here’s where my creativity will have to commence). D chose a centre cut pork chop that he provided tastes of. The cut was beautifully trimmed and arrived just pink which is how our family enjoys our chops. The loin (and the steaks that J1 and J2 ordered) were presented a top of a generous potato croquette which received as many accolades as the entrees themselves. Crowning the chop was a crunchy apple crumble which I cannot wait to duplicate at home. Just a simple adornment made an already delicious treat, that much better.
J2 had selected a beef filet that came wrapped in bacon for extra moistness and flavour. Perhaps this had done the trick, but I suspect that the filet could have stood on its own as it was “butter-knife” tender and provided a succulence which J2 “oohed” and “ahed” over (literally). J1 demonstrated how typical he was of our family-the special that evening seemed too good to be true and so he had to test the offering. For $20 a sirloin was topped with sweet chili shrimp and was paired with a glass of Sapporo beer. I could tell that J1 was enjoying every bite as he took small cuts of the steak to make the taste last.
We were all too full to consider dessert but decided to go for a night cap at the Garry St. Keg where J1 has recently worked and D and I first met. What a gift it is to have adult children who want to spend time with you. D and I know that we are blessed.
Kath’s quote: “Then there is the beefsteak. They have it in Europe, but they don’t know how to cook it. Neither will they cut it right. It comes on the table in a small, round, pewter platter. It lies in the center of this platter, in a bordering bed of grease-soaked potatoes; it is the size, shape, and thickness of a man’s hand with the thumb and fingers cut off. It is a little overdone, is rather dry, it tastes pretty insipidly, it rouses no enthusiasm. Imagine a poor exile contemplating that inert thing, and imagine an angel suddenly sweeping down out of a better land and setting before him a mighty porter-house steak an inch and a half thick, hot and sputtering from the griddle; dusted with fragrant pepper; enriched with little melting bits of butter of the most unimpeachable freshness and genuineness; the precious juices of the meat trickling out and joining the gravy, archipelagoed with mushrooms; a township or two of tender, yellowish fat gracing an outlying district of this ample county of beefsteak; the long white bone which divides the sirloin from the tenderloin still in its place; and imagine that the angel also adds a great cup of American home-made coffee, with the cream a-froth on top, some real butter, firm and yellow and fresh, some smoking hot biscuits, a plate of hot buckwheat cakes, with transparent syrup, could words describe the gratitude of this exile?” –Mark Twain
Love-that is all.
