Tuesday, October 20, 2009

High Voltage

A new restaurant called Volt opened in Frederick about a year ago. Everyone raved about it, and when Will's and my 5th anniversary came around, we decided to try it out. It was, of course, heavenly. We got the 5 and 7 course "chef's kitchen" dinner with wine pairing, and although it was an absolute ton of wine and we got quite giggly, we did NOT drop to the floor as soon as we stood up from our table like the lady next to us did, so I considered it a win. The food was fabulous too :-)

The head chef, Bryan Voltaggio grew up in Frederick, and after getting his training he came back to Frederick and opened his own restaurant. There's definitely nothing else like it in Frederick, and it's really nice that someone had enough faith in us backcountry Fredericktonians to open a gourmet restaurant here.

I have been to Volt quite a lot in the past month, but never really to eat. A couple weeks ago, after a girls night with some friends, Carolyn and I walked Wendy to her car which happened to be parked in front of Volt. As we lingered on the sidewalk saying the long goodbyes that women are famous for, the Maitre d' came outside and invited us in. When we told him we'd just finished eating, he offered to give us a tour, so we said why not. Now Bryan Voltaggio is currently on Top Chef (and kicking butt), so even though I have been to Volt before and seen him before, it was difficult not to fangirl all over the place. I mean, I KNOW I've seen him before, and heck, he even brought food to my table the last time we were there for dinner, but now he's on TV! Plus I knew after eating his food that he was talented, but now that he's competing against some of the best chefs in the nation and WINNING, I have more context for exactly HOW good he is. How can you not squeal slightly (even if it's under your breath) when in the presence of a food god? To recover a bit from the embarrassment of traipsing through the restaurant like tourists who have never eaten anywhere but Friendly's before, I promised the Maitre d' that we'd be back on Wednesday for the Top Chef party and to actually eat.

Luckily, everything kind of fell into place and we managed to get there on Wednesday. It turned out to be a Top Chef repeat that week which was disappointing, but at least I got to eat there, even if it was only off the bar menu.

Still later that same week, we ended up back at Volt during the In The Streets festival. We were picking up a gift card on behalf of my new brother-in-law's parents (who live in California, so it was a bit difficult for them to get it). Poor Will wanted to hang out in the outside lounge area they had set up and have some drinks with our friends who were there, but he had the misfortune to be accompanied by a starving pregnant wife and a daughter who decided it was the perfect location to pee her pants, so we weren't able to stay long. At least when Emily grows up and we take her to Volt for a celebratory dinner we can embarrass her back by telling the waiter about how she peed herself at this very restaurant however many years ago. Teenagers always talk about how hideously embarrassing their parents are, but what they don't consider is how WAY more hideously embarrassing it was for those parents to even leave the house when their kid was 2.5 year old. Why, these hypothetical parents might've had to apologize profusely to a salesman after their child climbed to the very top level of the tallest, most expensive playground set at a showroom and then let loose an impressive stream of urine that was heard echoing throughout the empty salesfloor as it splashed down through three levels of playground fun. They might've had to helplessly push a puddle of pee* around the floor of Toys R Us because the adolescent sales associate only brought them a couple sheets of that delightfully cardboard-like and completely non-absorbent paper product from the bathroom with which to clean up said pee. Or they might've had to stand in a crowded grocery store checkout line pretending they didn't hear (while their cheeks blazed and totally gave them away) when their 2.5 year old crawled under their skirt and loudly announced "Mommy I can see your 'gina", EVEN THOUGH I SWEAR I WAS WEARING UNDERWEAR. I mean, even though these hypothetical parents were totally wearing underwear.

What was I saying before?

Oh yeah. After all of those visits to Volt, it's about time to go there for real, and NOT in the company of my daughter. So in belated celebration of our 6 year wedding anniversary (Will was up in Chicago for a bachelor party on our actual anniversary, but he brought me a box of Vosges truffles, so we're all squared up) we are going to Volt this Friday. I don't know what makes me more excited; going to Volt and actually getting to eat dinner, the fact that they now offer a 21 course tasting menu, or the fact that my mom is taking Emily overnight. After enjoying 2 months during which Emily didn't seem to realize she could exit her room by herself, the honeymoon is over. She is up at 7ish every day (5:20 this morning) knocking softly at our door. She has even started coming to visit at night. We heard her knocking at a particularly inopportune time earlier this week, which has made all our other inopportune times since a bit more guarded. I don't want her first memory (or any memory for that matter) to be of THAT.

So yeah. Volt food, date time with Will, and luxuriating in bed until (gasp) 7:30AM (or possibly even 8 if we are feeling decadent) are very good reasons to keep dragging my ever-increasing bulk through this week where nothing seems to get done yet I am still somehow always tired. And if all that is not enticement enough, I am also getting a haircut on Friday, and a massage on Sunday. So hurry up, week. I am totally sick of you and I have way better things to be doing.

*Despite these three incidents that happened a couple weeks ago, Emily IS in fact back to being 100% daytime potty trained but I am certain she will be able to find plenty of non urine-related ways to embarrass me in public. Otherwise, what will I blog about?

1 comment:

Aunt Becky said...

Oh kids are amazing at shaming us in public. Seriously, it gets worse before it gets better.