Mom and Dad's Anniversary

As of October 15, 2017, my parents have been married 62 years. We don’t wait for the 10-year increment anymore—every year is a celebration. Terry got out a pencil to calculate what year they were married. When he came up with a very familiar 1955, he said, “Oh yeah! I’m 62!” He’s not likely to forget the year again.

A couple weeks ago, Dad went on a mysterious mission to Rockford. When he came back, he took me aside and asked if I could 1) contact Doug to see if he and Pam could come to dinner on the 15^th and 2) call Franchesco’s Ristorante to firm up reservations for 4 (if they couldn’t come) or 6 (if they could) in the private Wine Room. A florist would be delivering flowers. And don’t tell Hilda. It was a surprise.

Doug and Pam could come. I called the restaurant, but the woman to whom I spoke did not inspire confidence. I called a week later, and sure enough, there was no reservation on the books. I felt better about the second call because I could hear typing in the background. I felt completely good about everything when I got a reminder call on Saturday. Whew.

Doug and Pam were just getting out of their car when we drove into the parking lot. I beeped the horn, and Pam turned around. Hilda was thinking, “That woman looks a lot like Pam” when she realized that it was Pam! She was surprised. Mission accomplished.

The Wine Room was lovely. It was actually an antechamber outside of the small room where the wine racks were and was just big enough for a table for six. Here are Mom and Dad with the flowers.

Mom and Dad with fresh roses and other flowers

We began with champagne, bread with seasoned olive oil, and two kinds of focaccia. Hilda and I split a tomato/basil focaccia; Pam and Doug shared the onion and rosemary.

We ordered appetizers of fried calamari and coconut shrimp. “Shall I put in two orders of the shrimp?” the waitress asked, “It’s three to an order.” We thought that was an excellent suggestion. The shrimp was plated on a sweet/sour/hot sauce on half the plate and a mango based sauce on the other half. The calamari came with a spicy dipping sauce and marinara. I forgot to take a picture.

Some had house salads. I had a cup of lobster bisque, which was awesome. It had little pieces of lobster in it, which I liked better than the version that is entirely pureed.

I had ricotta stuffed gnocchi with tomato and basil. All of the pasta dishes came with a big chip of melted Parmesan. I love that. The gnocchi were pillows of soft potato pasta surrounding seasoned ricotta. Not something I care to try at home. Regular gnocchi is enough work.

Ricotta stuffed gnoochi with tomato and basil

Hilda and Terry and linguini and shrimp with aiglio/olio sauce. Dad had chicken Parmesan. Doug had lamb chops, and Pam had Chilean Seabass with forbidden (black) rice. We traded bites around. I had never had black rice before. It had a sweet, floral flavor that was familiar (probably from the sauce), but I couldn’t place it. Franchesco’s advertises Farm to Table, but I refrained from asking the waitress if the seabass was local.

Doug ordered Chardonnay for us, and got a glass of red for himself, since white doesn’t go with lamb. One bottle of wine was just the right amount for 5—one glass a piece.

For dessert we shared three huge pieces of New York cheesecake drizzled with chocolate and caramel. I remembered to take a picture of those, but not until they were almost eaten. I got one with pralines as well. Not that we needed dessert… Doug had a double expresso so he could stay awake for the drive back to Harbert, MI. Hilda, Dad, and Terry had decafs. Pam and I stuck with water. The others bequeathed their leftover cheesecake to Terry and me. We put it all in one container and added it to the bag with our leftover entrees—enough for two lunches each.

Group photo, back row left to right, Pam, Doug, me, Terry; front row, Hilda and Dad

As we waited for the bill, Pam mentioned the sign in the wine room. 

The wine room with a compelling command

“Should we sign out the wine?” Pam asked. “It is a command—please sign out ALL wine.” The wine room did not appear to be locked. Terry had inspected it through the glass door and estimated that there were 1300 bottles of wine in there. He’s very quantitative like that. It was kind of a funny sign. We didn’t act on it, though. We all have plenty of wine in stock.

I wore the same outfit that I bought for the 50^th anniversary dinner at Charlie Trotter’s kitchen. I was relieved that it was neither too big nor too small after 12 years. I cannot help but reflect on the differences in the two events. Then we had course after course of tiny bites of things that were often outside my comfort zone (e.g. fish eggs) and/or not cooked quite as much as I would have liked (e.g. barely warm salmon) but all with outstanding sauces, and a new bottle of wine with nearly every course. It went on for hours. Doug got us rooms in hotels on Michigan Avenue, Mom and Dad at the International; Terry and I at the Holiday Inn nearby. Hoo-boy—that was one epic hangover I had the next morning.

And then there was this year. Comfort food in a quiet, nearby place, one glass of champagne, one glass of wine, 35 minutes to drive home, and in my own bed by 9:00. I felt great this morning. Am I glad I went to Charlie Trotter’s? Absolutely. It was an experience I will never forget. But we’re in a good place now, too.