proof: i can talk for hours about food.

Last night was Date Night. Thanks to the glorious and ever-so-slightly patronizing event that is Philly's Restaurant Week, every so often I get a chance to go to an establishment in the city that, were I to enjoy a meal there on a normal night, would make my poor little bank account wither into dust and float away on the breeze. Last night's choice was Amada, which is run by chef Jose Garces (who also happens to be the Food Network's newest Iron Chef, in case anybody was interested). The restaurant serves traditional Spanish tapas-style meals, and we've been there once before--also for restaurant week. The food was so good the first time that Amanda and I both nearly cried tears of joy with each plate that was put in front of us. It was literally a foodgasm, and was so profoundly delicious that there was no way we wouldn't go back when Restaurant Week came around again.

There was a snafu with the cab company (and by snafu I mean the cab didn't show up), so we drove into the city instead, just missed our reservation, and ended up at a high table near the bar. It was still a lot of fun, but I wish we'd been able to eat in the dining room--then maybe I wouldn't have had to accidentally listen to so many annoying people talk about annoying things. Oh well! Back to the topic at hand.

Now, normally I view the restaurants of celebrity chefs with a wary eye. For one thing, it's not like the chefs themselves are there all the time. Sure, they might develop the menus and decide which ingredients to order, but they have talented chefs working under them to make sure that the restaurant doesn't fail while they're off on their book tours. I'm not saying these other chefs aren't as good--quite the opposite is true. What I'm saying is that it's stupid to go to a high-end restaurant just because some celebrity chef runs it. It's not like you'll see them there.

Amada is a restaurant for which I will make an exception. Sure, it's always full of obnoxious Young Professionals and other people reeking of self-importance. Sure, it's always packed by six o'clock, even on a weeknight--but I am more than willing to deal with the noise and the crowd and the rude people if I get to put Jose Garces' food in my face. Each dish is small, simply cooked and immaculately presented, with a minimum of fuss, and (thankfully) no little microgreen garnishes or artful whorls of frothy emulsions. Anyway, enough snarking and food snobbery. Here's what we ordered:

FIRST COURSE (two dishes each)
Amanda had a traditional Spanish tortilla with saffron aioli and a plate of La Peral cheese with a currant-pistachio preserve. The Spanish tortilla is totally different from the flour or corn wrap common to Latin American cooking. It's a peasant dish in origin, made from potatoes and onion bound together with egg. This version was small and dense, but still creamy on the tongue, and the dab of aioli on top added a gorgeous garlicky tang. La Peral is a creamy cow's milk blue cheese from Spain--it's delicious, but it definitely has a distinctive barnyard funk. You can tell that it came from a cow. Fortunately the bread and the currant preserve that it came with helped to mellow things out.
For my two choices, I had a plate of serrano ham with cornichons, caperberries, and dijon mustard, and a plate of aged manchego cheese with truffled lavender honey. The serrano ham was a repeat from my last visit because I loved the dish so much. The plate arrived draped with delicate slices of ham that had been drizzled with olive oil. Each piece was paper-thin, rich, mild, and salty--I don't care what any bleeding-heart vegetarian might say about the cruelty of ending an animal's life for my food--this was clearly a very happy pig. This pig was pampered and loved, and his meat was treated with reverence and skill. Only a happy pig could taste that good. The manchego was perfect, too, and paired with lavender honey it was like what I'd imagine the Spanish countryside would taste like if I could taste with my eyes.

Are you drooling yet?

SECOND COURSE (also two choices)
Amanda had roasted truffled asparagus with a poached egg, and a plate of perfect grilled scallops. I had grilled calamari and grilled brochettes (skewers) of beef. This was the part of the meal where we shared less, and hunched over our plates emitting quiet little moans of happiness, so I can only tell you that Amanda's asparagus spears were swathed in a buttery garlic sauce of some kind, and the scallops were sweet as candy. The grilled calamari was also perfectly soft, sweet and buttery--and I tip my hat to whichever chef cooked it, because it's very difficult to cook squid, especially on a grill, without turning it into vulcanized rubber. The beef brochettes were tiny skewered cubes of what must have been a gorgeous cut of meat--soft, rich, and full of flavor with a beautiful crunch. Unfortunately, the meat was highly salted, which I tend not to like. Still, though--that's absoutely my only complaint, and I'm really good at complaining.

DESSERT
We both picked the same dessert--a small brown butter cake, served with almond ice cream. It was a rich, sweet and decadent way to end the meal, but I wouldn't ever go to Amada just for dessert. I'm much more interested in the savory offerings.

Anyway, despite the fact that Philly cab companies can never seem to get their act together when I want them to (I should just take the bus), and despite the fact that fancy places are always full of fancy and obnoxious people, date night was wonderful. I loved the food, and loved the company even more.