MASA - April 2009

We'd decided on our next venue almost 12 months in advance but Dimitris and I were a little skeptical of the choice considering, at the time, we were not what one would describe as lovers of sushi. Anyway, the rest of our group approved of the restaurant and we had little choice than to go with it. Dimitris and I were discussing this as we left our hotel, The Dylan, in midtown Manhattan. Masa, the chosen venue, was a short taxi ride away to Columbus Circle.

On arrival, the host guided us to the chef’s table which we had pre-booked. I don’t suppose any of us considered the dynamics beforehand- we usually sit around a circular or rectangular table so we can see each other easily, choose to listen to whatever conversation sparks our interest and throw friendly insults at each other as we eat. On this occasion, we were presented with what looked like a long, wooden, antiseptic, butcher’s block, with high chairs at attention on which we sat.

The seating arrangement certainly did change the verbal interaction between us at first and our attention was on the chef preparing the sushi; his slight of hand was mesmerizing and his broken English forced us to listen intently to what he was describing as he delivered individual bowls of skillfully prepared dishes to the table. Some of us, mainly Dimitris and myself, sought further clarification as to what we were about to put in our mouths.

As we settled into our environment and adapted to the seating arrangements, some of us adopted a nomadic approach between courses. We'd leave our stools to find another conversation further down the butcher block and return to our rightful place when another creation was placed at our setting.

Whilst all this was going on, waiters moved behind the scenes, removing plates and bowls, and keeping our wine glasses filled. It was almost as if they were not there, gliding silently like small sail boats on a calm pond; making eye contact to obtain approval and smiling with a small bow as they retreated back into the mist.

As a former non-sushi advocate, I find it hard to choose the right words to explain the different flavours that exploded in my mouth and then travelled through my nasal passages, setting off pleasure sensors in my brain, but it was all very exciting. I have rarely experienced such an emotional relationship with the texture and flavours of food before.

It has to be said that, reserving the chef’s table and giving them a free hand was not an inexpensive experience, and, if you decided to have a similar event, be thoughtful as to how much credit you have remaining on your card before handing it over to settle the bill.

TRATTORIA CORTE SCONTA - VENICE SEPTEMBER 2009

Extortion has negative connotations; there are places in the world however, where being ripped off is somewhat pleasurable; Venice is one of those places. On arrival, Jon and I headed for Piazza S.Marco, ordered two Cokes, sat on two of the chairs that adorned the outer perimeter and, after a enjoying a cigarette, left 10 minutes later, paying €20 for the experience, which we would happily repeat

Ron, one of our most distinguished of members, was the coordinator for the event. We had all arrived the day before and could tell that he was fretting a little, concerned that his choice of restaurant would not be suitable. On the day of our planned lunch, the weather could not have been better; the sun was shining and the temperature perfect for meandering around the narrow streets.

After a mid-morning coffee, we made our way towards the restaurant. We had a couple of hours to kill and so adopted a snail like approach, doing the best we could to discover the least direct route possible. Nobody was in charge; occasionally someone took the lead, even if they did not know were we were heading, and Ron took out his map, still fretting.

Despite walking slower than someone who walks very very slowly, we arrived at the restaurant early. This gave us an opportunity to find somewhere to enjoy an aperitif before lunch. So, just around the corner near the chiesa di sangiovani in bragora, we found a small café. We rearranged some of the chairs outside, ordered our drinks and lazily sat, chatting; a man with an accordion stood tapping his foot and smiling, as he squeezed out various tunes for our pleasure.

Shortly before we were due to stroll to the restaurant, Ron disappeared. When he returned, he ushered us from our seats and guided us with his arm to walk towards Calle del Pestrin, where our table awaited.

Entering the restaurant, we were greeted by dark wood, white table clothes, white walls, wine glasses everywhere and smiles from a waiter. We were led to the back of the restaurant; walked through the rear doors, and were met by hanging vines, yellow ochre walls and waiters in maroon aprons, white shirts and bright welcoming smiles, busily serving other diners.

We took our positions at the table; no menus were provided, which was due to Ron’s earlier disappearing act. Over the next two and a half to three hours, a variety of different seafood was delivered to our table. Excitedly, we savoured every mouthful, commented on how it was presented and everybody declared that the last plate was the best, and then changed their minds as a new plate was put in front of us. The owner described every dish in Italian and we had no idea what she was actually saying, albeit that one of the group offered some form of translation. None of it mattered, it was a glorious experience

Trattoria Corte Sconta, is certainly one of our favourite places. Ron’s fretting was unnecessary but endearing and everyone left replete and totally satisfied, as we strolled out to find a water taxi. At €90 per head, including wine; the word extortion is hardly applicable. Either way though, one should embrace all that is Venice from its €20 Coke, to it’s over priced Gondola rides and discovering little gems that is Corte Sconta, as the experience is worth every penny, or rather, cent.