A date with one of my favorite people

Last Saturday night, after two failed attempts at making plans with friends in the City, I decided to take myself out on a date.

After considering several options (the Philharmonic and Bar Boulud? the bar at Babbo or Casa Mono? some jazz or a hipster show on the LES?), I decided to see the Martha Graham Dance Company perform at the Joyce and to treat myself to a post-show dinner at Tia Pol.

The performance was inspired (if somewhat annoyingly political), but I found myself distracted by fantasies of creamy fava bean puree and beyos cheese on perfect little toasts.

When I arrived, I must admit, I ordered like a girl, albeit a girl obsessed with tasty food. First, a salad of frisée and arugula with white asparagus, fried artichokes and a creamy, lemony vinaigrette, paired with a glass of Spanish rosé cava. In this dish, the peppery arugula and slightly bitter frisée are mellowed by the tangy vinaigrette and slightly mushy bits of asparagus, and the whole thing is rounded out with the fried artichokes' crispy pop. The perfect mix of soft and crunchy; creamy, bitter and bright. All perfectly complimented by the bone dry, floral, bubbly wine.

A side note: I am convinced that the kitchen refuses to chop the oversized frisée so that the wait staff has something to snicker about as the diners attempt to maneuver the unwieldy fronds into their watering mouths. I felt ridiculous eating the massive things but was also too proud to chop my own salad into baby food.

Next came the much-imagined toasts, which did not fail to meet expectations. The fava bean purée is smooth as silk but retains enough texture to firm up on the crisp buttered toast, and the dusting of mild white beyos cheese adds salt and augments the creaminess of the dish. I could eat 2 or 12 of these just about every night and die a happy woman.

Sadly, as I was just one person, I had to stop after my final dish: a special salad of sweet peas with cured pork loin and a sunnyside up egg (Chef G calls me his egg slut – I couldn't pass this one up). My first move was to break the yolk, which oozed over the salad to make the world's most perfect dressing. The egg-soaked tender sweet peas were divine, well-balanced in both flavor and texture by crisp radishes and fresh croutons. If I were to complain about anything, it would be not enough piggy (I do love my piggy) – and this salad was equally awkward to eat, but on whole, it was totally worth the embarrassment. And equally well-complimented by a second glass of delicious rosé.

I briefly considered passing up on dessert (is it ridiculous to order dessert when taking yourself out on a date?), but the seduction of fried custard balls and a jammy dessert red proved too strong to resist. This dessert is covered with a crust like the outer layer of the very best donut you've ever had and is filled with an eggy yellow custard the consistency of melted brie. I am a great fan of flavor complexity in desserts (i.e., desserts that taste something in addition to sweet), so perhaps a sprinkle of sea salt would serve this dessert well, but the dried cherries with which it is served add some tartness to balance the super sweetness of the custard. As I took my last sip of the full-bodied, grapey red, I decided that I need to take myself out on dates more often.