Suppah Club: A Big Night Timpano, Birds in a Ficus, and Midwestern Horrification

It was my turn to plan Suppah Club this month and I thought it'd be nice to do Restaurant Week in the North End. Several weeks ago, I made a reservation for 8 people at Taranta but realized only a few days prior to SC that their Restaurant Week policy was crafted by a bunch of fascists. "Only full parties will be seated. If you change/cancel your reservation within 48 hours, you must pay a $25 cancellation fee as well as the full price of the meal." WTF. This would not jive with Suppah Club, which in its very essence is non-commital -- for valid reasons. Planes are delayed, babysitters cancel, people have to work late or can only make it for drinks or dessert.

Needless to say, I put the kibosh on the Taranta reservation a full 96 hours in advance and booked at Bricco instead --- a place that we've been dying to try for a while, a place that wanted NO part of Restaurant Week. It was a good call on many fronts. First, the reservation for 8 dwindled to 2 thanks to vacations on the Cape and in Maine, business travel and, of course, new mamas tending to newborns. Cameo and I, Bricco cheerleaders from the outstart were the dynamic duo. I requested, via Opentable, a table by the window so we could sit in the open air and peoplewatch on Hanover Street. When we arrived, there was line out the door but our sidewalk-side table was waiting for us. It was all very romantic and Cam noted it was the best date she’d been on in a while but assured me I wouldn’t have to put out.

Feasting: Spice crusted rare tuna appetizer (tonno!) with three different sauces, a Timpano -- pasta wrapped stuffed pasta wrapped in pasta -- inspired by the movie "Big Night," roasted chicken and sausage raviolis and a few organic meatballs. Conversation turned philosophical; it was reminiscent of our roundtable chinwags in EB, except we had some Doris Kearns-Goodwin look-a-like eavesdropping at the next table.

Then Suppah Club added another layer to the evening in the form of the spontaneous good time.

When we were being seated, we spotted Mike Mc sitting a few tables from the front door, entertaining some clients from the midwest and ordering up the wild boar entree. (“Was it gamey? I bet it was gamey.” – Cam) It was so pleasantly random, that the meeting almost appeared staged, his clients sizing up Cam and I, no doubt wondering if Mike had added some high-end hookers to the expense account to escort them round town. After dinner, we joined them at the Living Room for a glass of Pinot where we hung out on big couches next to a overgrown ficus tree that I swore had birds living in it. A ton of laughs followed, although I'm certain we horrified the midwesterner. I'm sad/thankful my camera batteries died.

We took off, grateful that Cam was in the custody of Suppah Club this evening and not in Peru where the earth was quakin. We drove back through the city, playing Silversun Pickups on the radio loudly. Until next month...Gwennie, you're up!