For this week's post, I've decided to share a memory of a meal, one I'd forgotten until only recently. This past weekend, my bandmates and I played a show in Columbus, and we decided to grab a bite at Buca di Beppo's, a massive restaurant adorned with colorful Italian memorabilia and photos. The restaurant was downtown in an alcove below street level, and the three of us were the only late afternoon diners in the whole place.
We ordered cheese manicotti and spicy calamari and stuffed ourselves with Italian loaves of bread with olive oil and red wine vinaigrette. Italian jazz played softly in the quiet restaurant, and we talked about our favorite restaurant experiences. The warm, secluded atmosphere of our booth reminded me of a memory from my early teens, when my whole dad's side of family came together to celebrate my grandfather's birthday at a wonderful old Italian restaurant in downtown Cleveland.
My family is not rich, but this was a special occasion, a time not to worry about money. It was a warm, mid-summer day and the men of the family wore their nicest suits and ties, the women did their hair and wore dresses and pearls. Everyone was talking and laughing excitedly as we drove into downtown Cleveland at sunset, the red sun was beautiful off the tall, glimmering buildings. The valet took our keys as we stepped out under the restaurant's gilded veranda and entered the soft, elegant glow of the foyer.
Inside the posh dining room, we had a long table to ourselves at the front of the restaurant with a view of the statues and classic architecture of Cleveland's old downtown structures. I was just 15 years old and delighted by the unassuming elegance of this place; around us were families large and small, couples young and old, their laughter and bantering intertwined with the lively jazz musicians playing in the next room. It felt like a movie, it was beautiful.
As night fell and the lights of the city glowed, we ate courses and courses of salad, calamari, eggplant and chicken parmesan, spaghetti and lasagna and a handful of other delicious dishes, exotic Italian things I haven't had since. We drank wine (only a few sips for me) and ate and laughed for hours, till the candlesticks on the table burned away and we were one of last of a few big family tables still there.
It was a wonderful, romantic experience as a teenager to be allowed in such a setting, to get a taste of the joy of fine dining, to dress up and stay out late and revel downtown, to be swept away in sights and sounds and tastes of the city. I wish now I remembered the name of the restaurant, but regardless, the food and the memories even now impress themselves upon me.
