Conspicuous Consumption

There were several revelations here. First, the beluga caviar was not incorporated into the risotto as we'd imagined (absurd, in retrospect) — it was spooned atop two tiny bay scallops set alongside in their pretty shells, decorative and delicious — a perfect example of form meeting function. I'm sorry to say it's been a long time since I've tasted beluga; I'd almost lost sight of reasons why there's a thriving black market in the stuff — its clean, oceanic flavor in tiny, timed explosions on the tongue, its serious, fruity richness and lingering hint of musk. It must engender womb memories. On top of the fresh, buttery little bay scallop, it was poetic license. And the langoustines! Have I ever tasted this creature before? They are like long, giant shrimp or delicate, thin lobsters, and they'd been split cleanly down the middle lengthwise from head to tail. The meat in their tails was as sweet and delicate, as gently briny and melting, as you can imagine — a seafood even more perfect than any lobster, in my opinion. These, and the lobster pieces (easily a pound and a half between us), both tail and claw meat, and the hen of the woods and maitake mushrooms, had been sautéed in truffle oil and flambéed in fine cognac. You discovered the mushrooms in hidden layers inside the beautifully creamy, al dente risotto, which had absorbed every ounce of the shellfish broth it had been cooked in, every molecule of butter or whiff of alcoholic fume. The magic of risotto, its silk and bite, is in precisely this equation — that it fully absorbs and integrates what you cook with it and becomes a thing much greater than its individual parts. When the parts themselves are great, well then... you have truth and beauty.

It was a meal of almost unimaginable richness and texture. My partner scooped up every grain. I couldn't finish mine, but I knew better than to try to take it home with me; that's the other mysterious power of risotto — it's a food very much of the moment.

We finished dinner over a slice of Caprese torte, a fine-tuned flourless cake of chocolate, eggs, and ground almonds dusted with confectioners' sugar. It was late. Through the wall of windows overlooking the street, a long-estranged friend — seven years lost — caught sight of us and came in to make amends. We sat and talked and sipped our espressos and learned that it takes just that long to make a full revolution.

---

On New Year's Eve, Paradiso is offering a five-course prix fixe menu that looks very promising. Signor Romano tells me there are still reservations to be had for the later seating (around 9 p.m.) The cost is $150 per person ($280 with wine pairings) and comes with a complimentary champagne toast at midnight. The menu includes those sweet little langoustines in champagne sauce; a riff on the blingy risotto with lobster, Venetian caviar, and flambéed cognac; salt-crusted bass; and a combination of meats: buffalo, lamb, and veal. Petits fours for dessert. You can scan the full menu, along with the wine pairings, at paradisolakeworth.com.