Alleyways
We decided Sweet Dog had to be the translation for the Perro Dolcetto wine. Not a bad name, right? But then Emily got a better glance at the Tabard Inn bar's chalkboard, and maybe the name was Porro Dolcetto. What was a porro? No help, the bottle explained origins in the Dogliani area of Italy. Was the wine a poor sweet? A poured one? We gave up!
We ate oxen, goat belly and things possibly the same level of different but we didn't know what they were. I sent a glass of (not) Sweet Dog flying across our table and the next. A man in a suit escaped the flight. Tabard's great fire was out, but earlier we'd discovered the Iron Gate Inn and possibly the best fireplace in the city hiding across the street. Google later detailed a Civil War stable, maverick general and ghost.
Porro turned out to be a last name, of Bruno and Irma. A dolcetto was a "little sweet one." A light and dry wine, the name is a tribute to how the grape "ripens easily up in the cool hills where other grapes often struggle, and also to the amiable, uncomplicated nature of the wine."
Invent a name, find a tucked-away spot, eat goat and oxen, enjoy a bottle with talk both real and revelrous, Restaurant Week dolcetto.
January 20th, 2010 at 10:46 AM
My thoughts exactly! I told you that place was haunted.
January 20th, 2010 at 12:59 PM
Oooh. Tabard is one of my all-time favorites.