Divine Providence

CAV
14 Imperial Place
Providence, RI 02903
401-751-9164

It is a strange and curious thing to experience the loss of something good. I was back in Providence, RI this past weekend for the alma mater's commencement and graduation festivities, and apart from the requisite getting wastyfaced and making an ass of myself in front of parents and professors alike - I also said what could be one final goodbye in a series of drawn-out farewells to some of my favourite places in Providence, one of which perhaps deserves a special mention.

On Saturday night my friend Reed's parents took me out to dinner at my favourite restaurant in Providence - a place called CAV. By way of background: CAV is a gem of a restaurant which is housed in what used to be an abandoned warehouse in the jewelry district, and also operates as an antique store. The name stands for “Coffee, Antiques, Victuals”, which for some reason still seems to elicit a smile from me to this day, even though I have been privy to that information for quite some time now. Everything in the restaurant - from the Venetian chandeliers to the tablecloths with the beautiful Native American prints - is for sale. The place is decorated with warm colours and bathed in lighting that is part sunset over water and part glowing embers. And the food, good god, the food. It is executed with the highest level of technical mastery but also with the utmost devotion and dedication. It is good food, done well, done with pride, care and - dare I say it - love. In summary, i have a huge boner for CAV.

(Side note: you will all be happy to note that I was extremely well-mannered at dinner and did not once reference any achievement of orgasm in my pantaloons, which itself may or may not have happened. Twice.)

We got to meet the owner - a matronly old lady wearing a long necklace of mismatched beads and a flowy black dress, her face wrinkled not by the passing of time but by her constant smile. She moved slowly but with purpose, her eyes by contrast constantly dancing across the room. As she comes to our table Reed's mum touches her arm and asks, "Do you own this place?"

She stops and sizes us up, then replies without a trace of irony, "No. It owns me."

She proceeds to tell us how and why she started the restaurant - as an act of defiance against stuffy fine dining in general and a denouncement of large, impersonal places with millions of different forks and glasses and an extended hierarchy of waiters and servers. One is never rushed through one's meal at CAV, they always let you sit for as long as you want, sipping and talking and picking at your plate. You can laugh as loud as you want. It is, and I quote her, "a port in the storm of everyday life". That, friends, I think is truer than you could ever imagine.

My point is, if you ever find yourselves in Providence - or back in Providence for some among you - please do yourselves a favour and bring somebody you love to CAV. As you may or may not know I eat out quite a fair bit, and to borrow a metaphor few other restaurants have ever come close to being a refuge from the noise and the confusion and the drudgery of the world. There is a bit in A Moveable Feast where Ernest Hemingway describes eating oysters and drinking white wine at his favourite restaurant after a long, draining day. He writes, "I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and make plans." That is exactly how I feel when I eat at CAV.

The irony of it all is that my second favourite restaurant in Providence (which I also visited this past weekend) is exactly the kind of sprawling, oak-paneled, dimly-lit restaurant with white tablecloths and a million different forks that takes itself very seriously. You might even call it the antithesis of CAV. It is called Mill's Tavern, and it is fucking amazing.

Summertime and the livin' is easy

s1. I know I love grilling more than life itself, but I am undecided as to whether I like springtime grilling or summer grilling better - there is, at least for me, a subtle difference. In the springtime I like to do smaller items, more vegetables and fish, perhaps; and keep it simple - no rubs, no oils, no marinades, just intrinsic flavours with that added smoky goodness. In the summer I like to do heartier stuff, large haunches of beef and lamb and meats in marinades - and to keep stuff on the grill longer for that sweet caramelized taste and that meat-falling-off-the-bone deliciousness.

Last night I stuffed a pair of rainbow trout with onion and garlic and mushrooms and breadcrumbs seasoned with lemon and thyme; then grilled them, covered, for what must have been 12 of the longest minutes of my life. I was jumping up and down in and out of my pants. I crosshatched the skin like I was taught to - I was, after all, taught by the best - and threw on a side of green beans to cook in the last few minutes. I know you are supposed to always let meats rest a couple of minutes after removing from the grill to let the juices return to the surface, for meat that is more moist and juicy - but goddamn it, I can never wait that long. I always just want to pick it up straight off the grill and stuff my face with my bare hands.

2. I often wonder why perfectly competent home chefs like myself still crave eating out so much. There are just so many reasons; I should keep a list, really, but my latest fascination is with the pacing of the meal. This is something that Ember in Singapore, Mills Tavern in Providence and Cashion's Eat Place in DC - collectively some of my favourite restaurants - have honed to a science. At these places more than most I have always had meals paced perfectly - course after course served at just the right intervals to allow for digestion and pleasant conversation, the food always still at the right temperature when it gets to your table. It is so hard for the home chef - unless he is not sitting down to eat as well - to plan and time multiple courses perfectly. It is a small thing, sure, but the best restaurants do even the smallest things well.