This isn't exactly a story, but you WILL in the future find many restaurant stories here. So on that note, I just thought I'd share a few thoughts on my recent first dining experience at Prime, Oxford, Mississippi's newest hot spot.
I should first note that I might be just a BIT biased. Both head chef Crash Hethcox and Assistant Manager Terry Moon are former coworkers of mine, and Assistant Manager and Events Coordinator Michelle Rounsaville is one of my sorority sisters...so obviously I very much walked in wanting to love the place.
Thankfully, I wasn't let down. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, and enveloping without feeling claustrophobic. Nothing too hip or too cliched, but definitely posh and celebratory. I especially enjoyed the music...an upbeat mix of jazz standards from Ella, Louis, etc. Something about those songs always makes me feel chic. Good acoustics are always a selling point for me, and Prime has them. My party of five was seated at a round center table surrounded by other diners, but in spite of the music and the packed house, I never had to strain to hear the members of my party seated across from me, which is one situation that always puts a damper on any festive dining experience. The wine list looked great, and there was a pretty extensive specialty martini list, which is always fun. Possibly the only truly negative thing I have to say about the entire experience is that the straight up, very slightly dirty martini i ordered arrived VERY dirty and almost too salty to drink. Coming from a restaurant background, however, I know that this could easily be chalked up to the restaurant being a mere two weeks old and the night clearly being an insanely busy one. It's quite possible also that the waitress just missed my emphasis on the "slightly" part of dirty, but in every other respect, the service was informed, attentive, friendly, and not too pushy.
Now for the food. We ordered a side of the truffle fritte to start, which is comprised of house fries sprinkled with parmesan, asiago, parsley, and truffle oil. They arrived in a metal pedestal cone with wax paper...a very cute presentation I thought. Beware of these...they'll sneak up on you! The first bite was just so-so, but then they began to taste dramatically better and I eventually found myself picking stray bits from the bottom of the cone.
For dinner I ordered the pork chop with a side of the truffled mac and cheese. Important note about the sides: unless you're absolutely starving, don't order one for yourself alone, as the portions are quite large. My party wound up passing the sides around family style, which worked well. However, I'm afraid I was a little stingy with my mac and cheese. This side is sort of like a couture version of shells and cheese...just replace that orange powdery velveeta with mascarpone, parmesan, asiago and orecchiette truffle cream. Simply divine. The pork chop wasn't my favorite, but that's simply because I tend to like a little more going on with my food. I'd order it again, as it was a great portion and cooked perfectly, but I'd probably try pairing it with one of the excellent sauce offerings, like the bleu cheese with shallot butter. At any rate, it's nice to have the option of a non-fussy but well-cooked piece of meat. I managed to sneak a taste of the parmesean black grouper as well, and it's also possible that I'm not raving about the pork chop simply because I liked the grouper so much that I wished I'd ordered it instead.
In spite of being very well fed already, we just had to test a few of the desserts...specifically, the key lime cheesecake, "s'mores," and triple-chocolate fudge pie. All three were very good, though the fudge pie (or at least the bite that I had) had more of a cakey texture. The "s'mores" is actually a martini glass full of peanut butter chocolate mousse covered with a layer of toasted homemade marshmallow with a homemade graham cracker. It was by far my favorite...perfect texture, perfect rich flavor, not too sugary, with that wonderful toasted marshmallow flavor and texture to boot.
All in all, dinner at Prime made for a perfectly yummy, cozy way to spend an otherwise cold and icy night. I can't wait to try lunch! And Crash and Terry inform me that in the future they'll be serving Sunday brunch as well, complete with omelette and waffle stations. Those boys definitely know the way to get a girl all hot and bothered...when that Sunday comes, I'll be first in line.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Family Names
My younger sister is having a baby. The final chosen name (so far, anyway) is Isabella. Not the favorite of the family, but infinitely more approved than the initial choice of Zoe. It seemed that after a few months of weekly baby-name-changing, a certain peaceful stability had finally settled in. However, after a recent Sunday visit, it would appear that this is not the case for my Nana.
Nana's stories, as those of most older Southern ladies, are typically so convoluted and overly detailed in irrelevant places that you have to wonder if she's actually spent hours crafting a brilliantly complex brain teaser of the Whodunit variety, as opposed to just genuinely considering it necessary that her listener comprehend what her distant family relation had just purchased when she ran into her at the mall. The mere act of acquainting us with the fact that this woman was in some way the progeny of my long deceased Great Aunt Dean took five minutes alone.
It was this distant family relation (fourth cousin? Fifth?) who delivered the havoc-inducing news to my Nana that her son and daughter-in-law intended to name their unborn little girl, of all things, ISABELLA. This news was delivered to my parents and myself in a tone that implied we were expected to gasp in horror, and to question her as to what we were going to DO about the fact that these family members that we see precisely...NEVER...have the audacity to select the same currently popular baby name that my sister chose. Instead we looked at her in confusion. After a long pause, wherein our silence was clearly interpreted as shocked distress, she continued with "but don't worry...the full name is Isabella Claire, and they say they'll call her Clarabelle."
Another long pause. Finally my mother hesitantly asked, "...Clarabelle?"
"Oh, you know how they do that in Dean's part of the family," Nana explained breathlessly. "They've got a Lelabelle, another Clarabelle, and you know Dean's REAL name was Zenabelle, and..."
If there were more specific examples after that I didn't register them. And based on the open mouthed expressions of amused awe and delight on the faces of my parents, they were too busy digesting the same fact that I was...that I have a rather close family member, whom I'd always known as Aunt Dean, whose real name to me, if you went by what her birth certificate stated anyway, was actually Aunt Zenabelle.
"Zenabelle?" asked my mom. My dad's face had settled into a contended goofy grin. "Yes, Zenabelle, you know." responded my Nana, as if this piece of information was common family knowledge and that therefore she was mildly irritated with us for holding up the more important points of the story over it.
"...how did they get DEAN?" As the in-law in the room, my mother was apparently the only one bold enough to ask these questions.
"Well honey she changed her name as soon as she turned sixteen, of course....anyway, I asked where Ronnie Dell was and she said he was at home with the other grand-baby, that one their son had with that other girl, the one they're having all that...what's that word, paternity nonsense with...and she told me that SHE doesn't see any need for any paternity test, that the other day that little girl picked up that little dog of theirs and threw it over the upstairs landing, and she and Ronnie Dell said they knew right then that that child was a Graves and that was all there was to it."
It took another five minutes or so to coax the information concerning the fate of "that little dog of theirs" out of my Nana. It landed on the couch, apparently, and is just fine, should you care.
Nana's stories, as those of most older Southern ladies, are typically so convoluted and overly detailed in irrelevant places that you have to wonder if she's actually spent hours crafting a brilliantly complex brain teaser of the Whodunit variety, as opposed to just genuinely considering it necessary that her listener comprehend what her distant family relation had just purchased when she ran into her at the mall. The mere act of acquainting us with the fact that this woman was in some way the progeny of my long deceased Great Aunt Dean took five minutes alone.
It was this distant family relation (fourth cousin? Fifth?) who delivered the havoc-inducing news to my Nana that her son and daughter-in-law intended to name their unborn little girl, of all things, ISABELLA. This news was delivered to my parents and myself in a tone that implied we were expected to gasp in horror, and to question her as to what we were going to DO about the fact that these family members that we see precisely...NEVER...have the audacity to select the same currently popular baby name that my sister chose. Instead we looked at her in confusion. After a long pause, wherein our silence was clearly interpreted as shocked distress, she continued with "but don't worry...the full name is Isabella Claire, and they say they'll call her Clarabelle."
Another long pause. Finally my mother hesitantly asked, "...Clarabelle?"
"Oh, you know how they do that in Dean's part of the family," Nana explained breathlessly. "They've got a Lelabelle, another Clarabelle, and you know Dean's REAL name was Zenabelle, and..."
If there were more specific examples after that I didn't register them. And based on the open mouthed expressions of amused awe and delight on the faces of my parents, they were too busy digesting the same fact that I was...that I have a rather close family member, whom I'd always known as Aunt Dean, whose real name to me, if you went by what her birth certificate stated anyway, was actually Aunt Zenabelle.
"Zenabelle?" asked my mom. My dad's face had settled into a contended goofy grin. "Yes, Zenabelle, you know." responded my Nana, as if this piece of information was common family knowledge and that therefore she was mildly irritated with us for holding up the more important points of the story over it.
"...how did they get DEAN?" As the in-law in the room, my mother was apparently the only one bold enough to ask these questions.
"Well honey she changed her name as soon as she turned sixteen, of course....anyway, I asked where Ronnie Dell was and she said he was at home with the other grand-baby, that one their son had with that other girl, the one they're having all that...what's that word, paternity nonsense with...and she told me that SHE doesn't see any need for any paternity test, that the other day that little girl picked up that little dog of theirs and threw it over the upstairs landing, and she and Ronnie Dell said they knew right then that that child was a Graves and that was all there was to it."
It took another five minutes or so to coax the information concerning the fate of "that little dog of theirs" out of my Nana. It landed on the couch, apparently, and is just fine, should you care.
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