Decompression

My friends S and A are at the gym, and John is already at the beach. Good for them, but I have declared a no exercise zone for myself.  I'm on vacation, you see, and at home I work out at least five days a week.

At home I eat yogurt and fruit for breakfast. Here in St. Thomas I eat goat cheese and smoked salmon.  At home I race from task to task. Here I sit in a lounge chair overlooking the turquoise sea. At home I drink my morning coffee while I check my e-mails. Here John pours our coffee, and brings it back to bed as we part the curtains to allow the sun to stream in.  At home I grab a solitary lunch usually standing up. Here I prepare lunch with friends, set the table on the balcony overlooking the beach, pour some wine and enjoy.

At home some days it is difficult to finish reading the newspaper.  Here I have brought with me my favorite literary friends.  There is Nic Costa, the dark and emotionally damaged Roman detective with a penchant for Caravaggio. Alex Delaware, a psychologist who consults with the LAPD on interesting crimes.  Alexandra Cooper, NYC assistant DA who is smart, tough, and majored in English Lit. Jack Reacher, lone wolf, ex-military cop whom trouble seems to follow. Yep. Murder and mayhem.

We have been coming to this lush tropical island with S and A for over twenty-five years. It allows us to pause the rush and chaos of everyday life.  For that I am grateful.

The Orange Squirrel

After a week on the beach with S and A, John and I thought we would eat and drink sparingly this past week. At the beginning of each week in St. Thomas, where we return each year, we walk the hills to begin our day. But by the end of the week, the only time we leave our beach chairs is to return to our apartment to eat lunch. So a large dinner out mid-week was not in our plans.

But when our friends L and J found themselves with time on their hands because of an aborted vacation trip, I knew the perfect thing to do--make dinner reservations at The Orange Squirrel.

Downtown Bloomfield is not the destination one thinks of for quality restaurant dining, but we had been hearing about The Orange Squirrel for a few months now. Hey I grew up there--but who knew that we would find a trendy 40-seat restaurant with amazing food on a main thoroughfare in Bloomfield?

The slight, unassuming chef-owner, Francesco Palmieri, was bussing his own tables that night; and until L told me who he was,I would have never known. But this boy can cook. He graduated from the CIA and did a stint at Windows on the World until September 11.

The food is amazing. We started with an amuse bouche of two tiny bites of a sublime pleated pasta filled with a savory braised lamb. The four of us went on to share an order of gnudi, fluffy pillows of poached ricotta bathed in a wild mushroom broth. Perfect. The salads were great, especially mine, a riff on Ceasar sald with endive and white anchovies--brilliant.

Our entrees included aged rib eye steak, perfectly cooked and served with chipotle butter; roasted halibut; and a veal chop Milanese. All were delicious. There was a wonderful assortment of sides dishes. We so enjoyed the polenta with mascarpone cheese and the roasted brussel sprouts with crispy pancetta. For dessert we tried the blood orange creme brulee. The intense flavor of the blood oranges in the custard as well as in the dollop of sorbet that sat on top blew us away. This was followed by a house-made Bailey's Irish cream.

The best part of the evening was that we got to share time with our best friends as we have many times before--be it in our homes, in a dive bar in Orange, NJ, with the best pizza; in a wine bar on the Piazza Pasquino in Rome; and now on Bloomfield Avenue in Bloomfield, NJ. Who knew?

Today is Mother's Day, and L and I are cooking for our mothers. Happy Mother's Day.