Jeff took me out the other day to the deaf restaurant, Mozzeria, where he’s eaten a number of times since i wrote about our first excursion there last June. It was just as much fun as the last time although this time the patrons seem to have included a few too many talkers, and you know how noisy those people can be as they jabber louder and louder trying to hear each other over the din in an arms race of shouting. Still, in compensation, all the staff this visit were as pleasant and friendly as before, but this time they were all deaf, which cut down the noise.
In preparation for the visit, i’d gone again to an internet ASL site to learn a few more words, thus doubling my ASL vocabulary. And oh, did it ever pay off because this time i experienced the thrill of successfully eavesdropping for the first time on an ASL conversation. Of course 99.9% of it went right past me, but i saw the deaf couple ahead of me sign to the waitress that they wanted a table rather than the two seats at the bar, or at least i thought i saw in quick succession the words for “want” and “table”. And we got seated at the bar while they got the next table that opened.
I continue to think i ought to sign up for an ASL class since my interest in languages is as strong as ever, even as my hearing deteriorates. The only problem i see, other than my fading memory, is that owing to banging up my hands in my little accidents, three of my fingers no longer operate like they did as original equipment, and i have trouble forming some of the signs exactly like the ASL demonstrators on the internet. Still, i’m expecting it’ll be like folks filtering my Dutch, German, French, and Spanish through my American accent. Understandable after a beat.
But the food, yes. I think one of the main reasons Jeff and i enjoy taking each other out to eat, aside from both of us being dedicated trenchermen, is that we set such a bad example for each other. What happens every time is that we go into a careful negotiation over the menu and reach a selection that will be plenty of food, and then whoever’s buying has a compulsion to throw in a couple more dishes, of which out of politeness the other forces himself to eat his full share.
I was starving for pizza, so my non-negotiable demand was a couple of pizzas, which is actually quite sufficient food for two. See, it had to be two pizzas because Jeff needed the Margherita and i needed the Italian sausage with fennel, red onion, mozzarella, and garlic. And then Jeff wanted appetizers, so i agreed to a couple of those.
The first was the Roast Duck with Brussels sprouts, black garlic, and potato puffs. The second was the Crispy Pork with white beans, escarole, and tomato. Both were fireworks displays of flavor. Delicious. The pizza at Mozzeria is the thin crust, Neapolitan style cooked in the huge oven that dominates the room, and it’s also delicious. Jeff claims he beat me to an extra slice of the Margherita, but he doesn’t eat the outer rim and since i’m in anticipatory carbohydrate starvation mode in preparation for returning to my diet after Christmas, bread tastes especially good to me and i gobbled all his rejected rims.
So we were both stuffed when the waitress handed us a note saying our pasta course would be out shortly. Well see, Jeff had pointed to that after he ordered our pizzas, and he ended up telling them to just pack it to go.
Oh, and just to make the review more believable, i’ll pick a flaw: That pizza oven does a fabulous job cooking the pizza, but it also sure does heat the room up. Wear layers you can shed, and make sure the bottom layer is presentable…or that your ink is fresh.
Meanwhile, some buds on a 22nd Street palm: