Very early on Sunday morning, we were flown to Albuquerque by United Airlines’ Captain Cluck and Captain Asswood. I did not make this up.
We spent our phirst moments in New Mexico enjoying the phine hospitality of the United lost luggage counter. Thankfully, all of our baggage made it in one piece. I worked my phabulous magic at the Enterprise counter and phinagled a phree upgrade to a phancy car at a ridiculously low price. This was my second rental car upgrade in three days. Hooray for me!
We then decided to throw in some actual phood phor good measure…
After some napping and showering, we ventured out to the Plaza and wandered around town. It was pretty late in the day by the time we were ready phor lunch, but the Inn of the Anasazi was still serving their bar menu. We tried their Trio of Buffalo Burgers and their Anasazi Pizzetta. Both missed the mark.
All was well though, as we knew we’d be upgrading our dining options in the evening. My phella made reservations for a late dinner at a very special spot…
We started the evening with cocktails at The Bull Ring. Don’t let the incredibly dry website phool you- this place is a great stop in. Just don’t stay too long, or you may begin to resemble the man lurking behind my martini.
We walked across the street to dinner, and I realize that at this point in the night, I had no clue what I was in phor… Il Piatto is a must visit phor anyone anywhere near Santa Fe. Even if you’re not anywhere near Santa Fe, you need to go here. Even if you’re not anyone. There’s a distinct possibility that you might become someone just by walking in the door. True story.
Phood. Service. Atmosphere. The pholks at Il Piatto have the trifecta of phabulousness dialed in.
Calamari, in my opinion, is one of the most poorly prepared phoods on the planet. The masses’ obsession with breading and phrying baffles me. Why destroy something so delicious by cooking the living bejesus out of it?
Bless you, Chef, for honoring and harnessing the potential of this phabulous phood. The shaved fennel, peppers and onions served as a light yet decadent base and the aioli really brought it on home.
I don’t know that I have (nor ever will) proclaim myself a “foodie”. Really, I just love to eat. Part of me thinks that my lack of love for confit will prevent me phrom ever being included in that phancy pants world. But suffice it to say, the tasty teardrops of balsamic reduction which graced my plate with their presence could make me a card-carrying phollower of just about anything.
Never in my life had I imagined that a ravioli existed that was so phabulous, it possessed the power to render the eater completely helpless. I believe that I may very well have temporarily ceased to exist when I embarked on my phirst bite. I am quite unsure how much time I spent wallowing in Gorgonzola walnut sundried tomatoe bliss, but I know that in this moment a miracle occurred. My state of overwhelm caused a brain malfunction, and I phound I had phorgotten how to chew.
The moment is still a bit blurry in my mind’s eye, but when I came back to earth, my plate was clear.
The Raia Verdejo accented our meal perfectly and was one of many appealing options on Il Piatto’s list. We began the meal with a highly enjoyable prosecco, but the religious ravioli experience seems to have erased its name from my brain bank.
The house surprised us with this surreal zabaglione (substituted with apples due to my strawberry allergy). Again, I was still in a euphoric state of phood phabulousness, so details are a bit phuzzy, but I do distinctly remember using my phingers to gather up the last phew licks I could. And I always thought I hated zabaglione. Silly, silly me.
I left in pain. No human being should ever eat that much phood in one sitting, but when it’s that good, you just have to go big.