It's My Treat

Being treated to a lovely meal is one of life's delights.

Two weeks ago, KimcheeMac and I found ourselves dining at the bar at Inside, a West Village neighborhood restaurant run by a Chez Panisse alum (restaurants are apparently like Ivy League institutions). We started with an order of corn fritters with aioli sauce, a wonderful contrast of flavor -- sweet, salty and garlicky -- and texture -- crisp on the outside and creamy on the inside. We followed up the fritters with grilled bass with tropical salsa, a mild and pleasing dish, and an oversized order of fries (in fact, all the portions are rather large and lend themselves to sharing).

My good fortune continued last night at Alta, an intimate, rustic Spanish small plates restaurant where we went to celebrate J's first paycheck. The fritters this time were goat cheese drizzled with lavender honey. The highlights included sweet grilled scallops, corn risotto, and peppery gnocchi with tomato puree. Aside from the pacing of the meal -- including the arrival of the bacon wrapped dates not two minutes after we placed our order -- the meal was fantastic.

At the end of both meals, my two friends reached for the check and said, "It's my treat." The treat, of course, was all mine.