This week, my husband and I celebrated our second anniversary with a no-calorie-spared repast of extraordinary taste at Acacia mid-town. This is the kind of restaurant that insists you check with the hostess before you order appetizers from your seat at the bar, not that I appreciate that, but the service and quality gourmet more than made up for what was only a mild inconvenience. The ultra-urban eatery, with its modern, clean-lined furniture, and low-lighting, and its gliding, chic, twenty-something wait staff, proffers food that magically captures a range of tastes in each dish. When I wasn't stunned into silence, I talked to my food or about my food proclaiming its glory.
We started with small plates of goat cheese and then rabbit pate on soft, lightly toasted white bread. The pate was mild, mellow, and rich, especially accompanied by our not-so-buttery chardonnay. I silently begged the family pet rabbit for forgiveness between bites. The goat cheese was pleasant as well, its flavors constrasting nicely with the lightly oiled sprouts served alongside. (Note the goat got the better deal here, simply having to relinquish her milk as opposed to having her neck rung.) Our waiter recommended following this with white anchovies served on a bed of marinated cabbage and pine nuts. We also enjoyed flash-fried oysters that tasted of the nearby Chesapeake waters. But the pinnacle of our dining experience was the entree of all entrees: crabcakes.
Oh, be still my heart. Crabcakes, I adore thee. The waiter disclosed the magic five ingredients of Acacia's crabcakes: mustard seed, breadcrumbs, egg, lump crabmeat, Old Bay seasoning. I suspect, however, that some other mystery ingredient to these lovely, baked crabcakes must exist. They were creamy, mouth-melting, lightly seasoned, and have moved up my list to rival the heavenly crabcakes of Hemingway's in Florida (I keep meeting people who sigh with bliss when describing the crabcake recipe I once savored there as well.)
I think I was already inebriated from food consumption, but we pursued dessert anyway. Being completely unable to choose one, we enjoyed both the salted caramel coffee ice cream cup and panna cotta (topped with honey ice cream and served in a rhubarb syrup). And I cannot emphasize enough the absolute pleasure of sharing this meal with my favorite person. I wonder what he'd have done if I kissed the chef. I deliberated this briefly.
This beautiful meal, this wonderful, delightful, awe-inspiring food journey inspires new prayers on my part: Oh, I can't die before I wake, there's a final meal I must take. God bless foodies, everywhere.