Mi cena cumple

Well, I just hit the big 22 and feel old but not yet wise, which is sort of a strange place to be. I know, I know, I'm the baby of this blog and 22 is not old but maybe you geriatrics remember what it was like to suddenly, completely realize that you were no longer a teenager and expected to act accordingly? Plus now I'm done with monumental birthdays (16, 18, 21) until I'm 30!

But enough of all that: it's food I'm here to talk about, namely my birthday dinner. Warning: copious details to follow.

On Saturday night some friends and I hit up Olsen, a very trendy, very delicious Swedish restaurant here in BA. It has become famous for introducing the concept of American brunch to the city, but dinner did not disappoint. We started with a vodka-sampler-cum-smorgasboard that came with five shots of various vodkas (they're known for their extensive vodka list) and five little sandwiches. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't ask what the vodkas were but I am fairly certain that at least one of them was homemade, and one of them included tabasco sauce. I'm cloudy on the sandwiches as well, though I can say for certain there was definitely gravlax, and one with caviar, one with maybe steak and lingonberries, one with slices of apple and what I think was gouda, and one with cream cheese and something else? The vodka went quickly to my head, but not so fast as to drown out the memory of my main course, which was truly phenom.

It was a small plate--welcome after a long succession of enormous, steak-centered, coma-inducing traditional Argentine meals--featuring a slab of smoked pork belly perched atop a pile of warm mashed potatoes and plated with a few crumbles of blue cheese, a swipe of lingonberry puree (I think? or maybe reduction?), and a teeny tiny salad of carrots and some sort of delicate green.

The pork was crispy-fatty-crunchy-tender and absolutely delicious, complemented perfectly by the smooth texture of the potatoes, the kick of the blue cheese, and the tart sweetness of the lingonberries. We also ordered two bottles (there were five of us) of the cheapest Malbec on the menu, which turned out to be great--I won't try to describe it as I know nothing about wine aside from what tastes good to me and what doesn't.

At exactly midnight I was presented with a mini molten chocolate cake, complete with candle and a rousing rendition of "Que los cumplan feliz," followed by two more desserts: a lemon custard topped with caramelized pistachios and a vodka creme-brulee, both accompanied by small scoops of raspberry sorbet, FOLLOWED by cocktails--mine was vodka with mint and passion fruit and SO good.

The only thing missing was some pickled herring! I didn't venture there because the friends I was with are not the most culinarily adventurous (I think I ate all the gravlax by myself), but luckily I have my grandfather: I don't know where he gets it from--somewhere in Bridgeport--but he eats herring every morning for breakfast and is always happy to share.