It had been a long track day. Not for me as a runner (I do not run!) but as a viewer. The bleachers and the startling shots of the starting pistol are quite draining.
To top it off the stadiums over-priced hot dogs, chicken nuggets, and a strict no-outside food policy made for a day lacking food in both quantity and quality.
When the Track meet finally ended, we were absolutely starving and in need of a late-night dinner.
We got to Coals Artisan Pizza during that 8:00 pm Friday evening rush. Our party of three was given a 30-minute wait (give or take of course!) We waited in our Subaru Legacy as any post-covid, kind, introvert would do, as the restaurant’s waiting area happened to be the already overcrowded bar.
Back in the car, we all dug through our coat pockets hoping for candy or some sort of snack. I am not proud to say I came across a piece of Halloween candy that was safely wrapped up. Regardless of its potential age I quickly unwrapped and ate it. Tragically, all it did was make me hungrier.
After coming up short on meaningful food, we began reading through the menu predetermining our order. The consensus was that we would need an appetizer.
The Midwesterner in me vouched for the Arancini and the whole table agreed. Now going into this I had no idea what Arancini was, but I saw the words ‘fried’ and ‘cheese’ and fell in love.
After what seemed like a lifetime later the buzz from our cell that the table was ready rang out and we rushed inside. Black light fixtures glowing with moody lighting against the brick walls and high beams with exposed pipes guided our way as we slipped and slid around tables following the unphased host to the other side of the room to our seat.
The server barely had a chance to greet us with the warmest “Hi” when we quickly bombarded her with our information of the needed and chosen drinks and appetizers. Once she left, our voices continued to add to the chorus of Friday night chatter with tales of races won and lost and of how our bodies ached after a day’s worth of bleacher bummin’.
Our drinks arrived first. Of course. Out of sheer hunger and searching for calories, I sipped my Bluegrass Back Porch Tea, breaking my long-established, with good reason, rule of waiting for food before drinking. Time no longer stood still, and the clock began to spin, much like me two sips in, and before I knew it the food had arrived.
Our voices stopped and we began to devour.
Flavors burst as the Arancini, confusingly, melted in my mouth and hands. I am usually of a ‘take small bites’ philosophy, which has, such as in this case, led me to some awkward situations. I quickly popped the rest of the disintegrating pieces into my mouth and politely wiped my hands on the napkin that I had placed on the table. Napkin-in-the-lap etiquette has always seemed strange to me as I prefer to use both sides of my napkin.
The next unstable cheese curd got popped fully in my mouth instead of resorting to flawed half-measures. I do learn quickly. It tasted like a tater tot with cheese in the middle. It’s delicious and I was, like the rest of the table, hungry. The little bites disappeared quickly, and our voices reappeared with slightly more energy and pep fueled by the curious appetizer.
Next, our Iroquois pizza arrived. In essence, it was a buffalo ranch pizza wearing an onion bloom dress. Pieces of fried onion slid off the slice, the ones that clung on gave it a punchy crunch, but the flavors seemed almost at odds. The creative ideas for fun toppings seemed to have a disconnect. What began as a fun combination of flavors ended as a messy pile on a plate that just had a bit too much going on. It was delicious regardless, I just ate my fried onions on the side, a second appetizer.
We lingered deep in conversion as the rush slowly filed out of the ‘Instagram generic’ venue. An industrial chic bar that you can find a half dozen dotted around major cities.
We cashed out and slipped out back to the Subaru Legacy to continue the weekend’s adventure.
Your pizza graphic makes me smile! So cute!