Under the Walkway

DUTWOH.  If Brooklyn can have DUMBO, then Po Town can have its own down DUTWOH.  ‘Down Under the Walkway Over the Hudson.’  This night is my treat.  I want to return the favor and suggest my mother and step dad offer up another one of these local bistros they’ve been bragging about.  There is one DUTWOH joint they’ve talked about for some time.  Every time I’ve ever tried to visit the place it is closed, or sold out or otherwise unable to serve me.  Tonight is no exception.  The entire restaurant is booked out from 6 to 9. 

                                                                                                                        

We rifle through a few alternatives and she suggests another spot, not far that they both enjoy.  And on a cold winter’s night, driving about streets that were deserted and derelict when I grew up, pleased I was to park the car there Down-under.  The walkway was looking fine, towing up above.  I can remember the day back in seventies when she caught fire and died the death of her first life as a rail bridge. 

                                                                                  

We are heading to a place called Nic L Bistro.  I’m doing my best at a Dry-nuary and my mind hadn’t concerned itself with sour grape juice all day until we arrived at this place that was billed as a bistro and wine bar and I spied that bottle of Sancerre in the cooler.  Still, the food taste just fine with sodee-water. We had a sharp these plate and shared a Caesar sale with fine salty anchovies.  And against my better mind, I had the same thing I’d had the previous night.  The cavatelli pasta had been quite nice the day before.  They were known for their homemade pasta and this was served with goat cheese and eggplant and chicken sausage so I decided I’d stare down monotony and compare the two restaurants wares cavatelli to cavatelli.  This was damn good.  Perhaps a bit less rich than the night before, but both where memorable and I’d order them both again, were I to have the chance. We passed again on desert.  Pasta’s plenty.  But unlike the night before this friendly place had some espresso which I enjoyed. 

And though I love the Allman Brothers, and will always have a soft spot for “Midnight Rider,” which sounded pleasant when we walked in, I must also point out that both fine bistros I visited, two nights in a row need work on their musical ornamentation.  I heard Adele in both places.  I heard the same Adele song in both places.  I heard the Eagles and litany of other tired clichés that felt sloppy, next to the brick wall and remarkable attentive lighting and of course, next to the refined gastronomy.  Perhaps this Culinary Institute needs to offer up a class on the digestive powers of tasteful music.  Not everybody has to play ‘my music” but pop radio is a cliché.  Get it the off the menu of these otherwise wonderful eateries.  Please. 

Perhaps it’s time for a live jazz venue in DUTWOH.