Majolica, I Only Wish

Food continues to develop as a dedicated interest. One not explored too much in college as prepared, or nearly prepared foods, were eaten purely as nutrition or an excuse to break between studio and more studio work. Coffee and vending machine treats helped with those long nights. However, as one who frequently experiments with cooking, enjoys unique meals, and holds food loving friends and aspiring chefs, I increased my understanding of this craft ten fold over the last year.

At this point, my taste ably identified specific ingredients and combinations within dishes. Throughout the entire trip, I frequently kept note on different restaurants, their food, and service; surprise took hold as I sat through a meal that kept me questioning and wondering about its preparation and unlisted ingredients.

Majolica, located in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, unassumingly presented a New American menu full of seasonally unique dishes. Mushrooms served as a cappuccino soup, yes I gladly accepted the spoonful from the Other Half, to an ice cream with an Earl Grey favor accompanied with lemon curd and shortbread cookies supported the list. The food tasted like the perfect present ripely picked by your best friend, which was just waiting to be handed off in an understated white box. As if saying, this exists solely for your enjoyment.

My Valentine and I were guests of two of the restaurant’s backers, who knew the restaurant well considering their monthly visits. Right away oysters were ordered for the table and the beet salad eyebrowed and head nodded as a favorite appetizer to sample. No resistance on my end as I sipped a Pinot Noir we byob’d.

It was a white, square dish place. One stocked with long rectangular and boatlike plates as well as square large and square mini bowls, the later carrying a melon, cinnamon sorbet topped with crispy prosciutto unexpectedly served between appetizer and entrée. Sarah, our waitress who was working aside the chef’s wife, casually brought this surprise but excitedly reinforced our menu choices and suggested others.

Calf tongue usually does not reach my plate, however the salad on a long rectangular sported this meat thinly sliced over red and yellow beets and small dollops of horseradish cream. Not enough to split, definitely enough to politely hoard, but of course some traded for that spoonful of soup. Now, I’ve never seen cooked skate and assumed the plate presented over my left shoulder was it. Forgetting the sauces mentioned with the fish and its other ingredients, I forked and knifed though a couple bits, finding the fish tough, but enjoying the added calamari. Wait a minute…

A heated family discussion wrapped over the copper table, and my interjection over everyone’s review of the food lightened the mood, but also solved a question of mine. I had another’s entree. We laughed, exchanged over the table and went on our way. The monkfish and calamari with a chorizo broth turned out to be the misplaced dish with a bold broth that lingered as I finished the roasted skate with subtle, buttered capers and baby artichokes. An inch square cut of chicken, pieced off of a thigh that underwent hours of smoking and seasoning, dropped onto the side of my white, rectangular plate. Snatched up thirty seconds later.

We sat down around 6pm on Sunday, with no additional tables occupied. Comfortably, others filled up, and the staff kept a relaxed pace with our party until our 8:20pm departure. Dessert finished the evening and my appetite took pleasure in the outwardly stated desire by every table member for individual desserts. I happily chose an intriguing proposition; a toasted hazelnut cake accompanied by a mascarpone sorbet and caramelized figs. Maybe even a cup of decaf coffee sided the plate.

Of course I wish I could cook with such control, but I really look to design and produce pieces of work that gather such reactions. It was a dinner that took me by surprise while feeding familiar tastes and memories. I simultaneously felt five, twelve, and twenty three years old while sitting at the table that night.