The houses on my route looked picturesque under a dusting of powder from the night prior. I went on a date with a dude who used to run an account on Instagram about the Victorian houses in Buffalo. Last I heard, he relocated to Chicago.
After a semi-stressful ride accompanied by a frenetic rendition of “Flight of the Bumblebee” playing on the radio–whose host sounds uncannily like my old band teacher (must be the “biz”!)–I found myself in Allentown 18 minutes early to my reservation at Billy Club on Allen St.
To kill time, I walked up the streets to peruse the storefronts. I passed a dispensary I once panic-perused because I felt I was being followed up the street and took touristy pictures of murals and signs. I passed by a plastic bag of crap smeared on the crosswalk.
This was a very cold day, yet I lacked the middle-aged WASP-y confidence to yank on a door, hit a polite smile on the mouth and piercing eye contact in the eyes through the window until the service worker opened it early for me. So I paced, one gloved hand holding a lit Clove, one bare hand stuffed in my pocket fidgeting with a receipt.
Across the street, the unmistakable bang of tallboy cans hitting snowy cement rung out with a resounding THWAP. Two people on the other side of the street offer to help, so at the risk of looking like a jerk I bystood to my heart’s content.
I let the reservation marinate a few minutes past 11:00 a.m. before trying the door. The latch was eccentrically jammy, which led me to reminisce of the inaugural I Think You Should Leave sketch. I was met by a very hip server, dressed in an outfit I would try and fail to emulate to schmooze the esoteric yet popular girls in high school, who showed me to my seat.
I perused the menu and decided I had an especially ritzy palette this morning, ordering a coffee, an Aperol Spritz, a half-dozen oysters, and an order of the Turkish Eggs.
The coffee came first, alongside two tiny metal pitchers that carried cream, sugar and a small spoon. I examined my upside-down reflection in the spoon, noticing I look especially matronly. I then remembered that I hadn’t called my mother in a while. I forgot for the next two weeks.
The spritz arrived soon after, and after one sip, resonated even more with HowToDrink‘s defense of the infamous Beverly drink at Epcot’s Club Cool, stating “bitter is a perfectly good place and spot for a flavor to be”, and frankly, this was a great spot to be in. The Aperol Spritz also proved that looks can be deceiving, as its hue suggested notes more in line with fruit sangria than herbal tonic, which is probably why it was so divisive.
I’m a contrarian by nature, so I loved it.
After the aperitif came the canapé de la mer, a gorgeous plate of oysters on a bed of salt, served with a lemon disk and an ambrosial mignonette. These oysters were some of the freshest I had recently, and were delightfully zippy. It had been a while since I had an oyster without Tabasco, but I’m better for it because I got to appreciate these oysters for what they were without occlusion.
Finally, the pièce de résistance: The Turkish eggs. This dish made me ponder, and to be frank, despite the beautiful presentation, I was initially unenthused after my first bite, and was kicking myself for not saving the mignonette from the oysters to spruce them up. As I continued eating, however, I discovered that this was actually a very beautifully balanced dish, and that I needed to reconsider how I (over)season my food.
The yogurt below the perfectly poached eggs added the acid I was looking for in the initial bite, and the Aleppo pepper on top added a beautiful smokiness to the entire dish.
When researching to write this inaugural installment of Plates and Prose, I realized that Billy Club has a rotating menu, which has added to the ephemeral ennui I experienced at the beginning of the year. The tempo of the temporal has been ticking away and I have felt out of step with the world around me. This visit to Allen St. recalibrated my listlessness into a pursuit of true leisure, enjoying the snow crunch below my feet as I walked to Intersection Cafe and enjoyed a latte, and had the opportunity to be one of the last patrons of Karpeles Museum, another transient activity of the day.
The world isn’t promised. Explore your backyard. Take care of your neighbors. Call your family. Eat good food.
