Ivan is a lover of classical music and has season seats to Carnegie Hall, which is just across the street from the restaurant he's chosen, Trattoria Dell’ Arte . A few weeks ago when Ivan invited me to dinner, he also proposed I go with him to Carnegie Hall. Since I generally prefer first dates to be quick (maybe coffee somewhere), I declined the concert offer.
Ivan calls this morning to confirm out date and tells me, “I’ll be the handsome one waiting outside.” I like his confidence. I meet him and he has gorgeous deep blue eyes, but is older than the 61 years he claims to be. He is very complimentary. “You look even better than your picture,” he tells me, which is very nice.
The waiters all know him, as he comes here often. It is a very busy place, and Ivan comments that everyone is good looking. He’s right. It’s an attractive group. We sit down and order drinks (I get a glass of red wine, and later another one). Ivan appears to have already chosen our appetizer: a plate of mixed cold hors d’oeuvres, including eggplant, shrimp, scallops, roasted portobello mushrooms, baby vegetables, and a few other things I don’t recognize. He’s chosen well. Everything on the plate is fabulous. I’m already thinking, “This will be impossible to count. Maybe I won’t track again this week and just be very careful.”
Ivan has good values. He’s generous, kind, and adoring of his family (he spends half the week in Massachusetts taking care of two of his grandkids). He doesn’t’ ask much about me, but I don’t really care.
The waiter comes over and without opening a menu Ivan orders the grilled veal chop (with a parma prosciutto sage sauce). I do the same, but he says, “Don’t do that. Get something else.” I don’t understand this concept. It’s not like I’m going to eat his dinner. I smile and say, “No, I really do like veal chops, so I am going to get one too.” I’m glad I do, as it is the best veal chop I can ever remember eating. It comes with a plate full of shoestring fries. I eat all the fries but only half the veal chop (it’ll make a great dinner tomorrow).
Ivan is a direct person, which I like, but he may be a bit too direct. Halfway through dinner, while he’s telling a story about his dentist son, he interrupts himself and asks, “ Will you go out with me again?” I am taken totally off guard. Here I am, a little drunk and eating a $47 veal chop (that he is generously paying for). I mean really. Suppose I had said, "I don't think so," how would the remainder of dinner conversation have gone? So I say, “Of course.”
The evening ends pleasantly, but I wonder about me. I have a date with a perfectly nice man and yet I’m not satisfied. Nice should be good enough, but unfortunately, it never has been for me.
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