After the Loudness that was the Ezra Pound Bar, we skipped across William Street to the relative safety of Bivouac. I had discovered it a couple of weeks beforehand, and found the food was divine. Yes, I can see myself becoming a regular, or perhaps at least a semi-regular.
It was packed and we were only able to grab a seat at the bar, after waiting a couple of minutes. But it was a generous sized bar, not one of these micro shelves, and well able to handle the dinner plates that would be coming our way. The staff were engaged with their customers, happy and, dare I say, perky to within an inch of being overly so. But just staying on this side of the line, thankfully.
Drinks - I had an Italian beer, Castello, I believe. Went down okay. And Dining Buddy had a Campari with blood orange. Never having had Campari before, she asked me to describe it. Campari is Campari was all I could offer. She didn't like it, the after taste was fairly strong, so we shared. It will be a while before either of us will be Campari-ing again, methinks.
We ordered the 'charcuterie board' to start. The Turkish bread went down so well, with just a light toasting. And the baby gherkins and the other vegetables drowned in vinegar were surprisingly good. The cold meats were nice, but the best part of the dish was the cacciatore sausage, jawdroppingly awesome. My mouth is melting again just thinking about it.
Dining Buddy said the only thing missing was some olive oil to dip the bread in.
And we followed it up with a Tunisian lamb backstrap pizza, with peppers and tzatziki and mint. I have been out to dinner with this particular Dining Buddy three times, and all three places have knocked our expectations out of the park. And given our tastebuds exotic holidays, in Bivouac's case, to the shores of the Mediterranean. Rome with the sausage, Carthage with the lamb - as I delve into the history side of me to reference the Punic Wars.
Verdict: again, again, and soon please
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