Another last supper: Craigie on Main
The ridiculously good grilled octopus. I don't know how they get such an incredible texture; forget everything you thought you knew about tentacles.
A lovely little cake of fromage de tête with a duck's egg. Here's the before and after (or at least during).
Then The Boy had chicken-sausage-stuffed chicken. The bird was brined, juicy and delicious.
And I went for the lamb three ways: a sweet, fatty piece of slow-cooked neck, a grilled tongue, and a very nice heart sausage that was light in texture but deep with flavor.
And then dessert — no, wait, first a sorbet of grapefruit and Campari topped with champagne foam. Palate: cleansed.
And then dessert: for The Boy, a just-tart-enough sour milk panna cotta with a nutty, spicy granola and cherry puree. Meanwhile, my pork-dar stopped at the bourbon-pecan ice cream pie, whose crust contained bacony goodness.
And then we were done — no, wait, first there was cardamon-ancho chile hot chocolate, smooth and spicy and warming.
And then a tiny, perfect, lemon-filled macaron.
In other news, I've gained back the weight I lost when I started chemo and have added another four pounds. Coincidence?