When I arrive at the restaurant, I’m shown upstairs where I wait to meet Mr. Campbell. Even without tasting any food, I’m impressed. The view from the private dining tier of the restaurant is pretty amazing. An unfettered scape of the water and the Bay Bridge, but for a small lane between the restaurant and the bay, it’s pretty easy to get absorbed in staring at the choppy waves.
“Ms. Roberts?” a man’s voice sounds behind me. I turn from the view to see a middle-aged man in tan slacks and a baby-blue button-front shirt looking kindly at me, with one hand extended.
“Yes,” I agree. I fold my hands together, look down at his, and don a polite, regretful smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t shake hands. You must be Mr. Campbell.”
He smiles kindly. “No problem at all, Ms. Roberts. Please, call me Scott.”
“Thank you, Scott. Likewise, please call me CJ,” I reply, then with a sweep of my hand toward the window, “This is quite the view you’ve got here.”
He laughs and nods. “Yes, it hardly feels like work. Well, most of the time anyway.”
I smile indulgently. I worked in a restaurant once as a teenager, so I know he’s just being polite. Restaurant work is grueling, so I always go out of my way to be kind to everyone who works in food service.
“Well, as you can see, this private dining space has both indoor and outdoor areas,” he explains, gesturing to the part inside the glass doors behind us. “There’s space for cocktails and drinks, and seating for two dozen. All food will be prepared in the private dining kitchen on this level, all drinks served by the private bar just inside.”
I take a moment to look a bit closer at the restaurant décor itself. Unsurprisingly, it’s pretty swanky, though simple, with crisp, quality linens and rich earthen colors.
“This all sounds fantastic so far,” I agree. “Which courses are we to select?”
Scott gestures at a small table set for one. “Please, have a seat,” he urges. “You’ll get to customize each course. Anna will bring you samples and descriptions for each, and a card to keep track of your choices. And I’ll be back when you’re done to answer any further questions you may have.”
A petite blonde of no more than twenty appears behind Scott as I take my seat. She lays a printed card and pen in front of me, alongside another list that’s been handwritten. A quick survey of the printed card shows me it’s to make my selections. The handwritten list has half a dozen appetizers scrawled on it, along with their ingredients, and I find my mouth already watering.
“Thank you,” I murmur to both of them as they step away.
A moment later, Anna reappears with two long, white rectangular platters, with three elegantly plated appetizers on each. She sets them down carefully and draws the handwritten menu between us.
“Chef Davies has prepared a seasonal local sampling of our most popular appetizers for you today,” she explains softly. She begins pointing as she speaks. “This is a Tomales Bay oyster, curried pork cheeks, fried calamari, lemon shrimp, crab cocktail, and Parmesan fries. Please enjoy.” She slips away quietly as I take in the spread before me.
I start with the oyster, since there’s no choice but to eat it all. I let it slide down my throat, relishing the garlicky butter sauce as it glides over my tongue. I proceed carefully with the rest, taking only small bites for flavor so I don’t have to roll myself out of here later. It’s difficult. Everything is off-the-charts delicious, and it’s all I can do to leave most of it on the platters.
Thankfully, Anna returns promptly, whisking the remains away and giving me a few minutes to halve the contenders.
She returns with another handwritten slip of paper, this time for main courses.
“There will be a salad course, and each guest can choose between shrimp Caesar or house salad,” she explains softly, “and four main course options from which you may narrow it to two. I’ll bring those out momentarily.”
I nod and she flits away once more, leaving me to pore over the menu. Somehow it makes my stomach rumble in anticipation, despite basically having just eaten a light meal. And when she returns a moment later with a large, round serving tray loaded with four dishes, the amazing aromas practically knock me over. I can see as she sets them down that they’re tasting portions, which bodes well for not stuffing myself silly.
“I have for you today grilled king salmon, grilled grass-fed ribeye, chickpea fried vegetables, and our only non-local option, steamed Alaskan halibut.”
I look up at her, amused. I’m not sure if our department heads are all about the local, sustainable movement, but honestly, as long as the food tastes good I’m not fussed. “This is amazing, thank you.”
She gives me a small smile and, with a nod of her head, she’s once again left me to nirvana. I sample each dish, bowled over by everything but the fried veggies. I literally can’t decide between the salmon and the halibut. Both were amazing.
Anna approaches cautiously after a few minutes, and I wave her over enthusiastically.
“Heeelllllp,” I plead. “Which would you choose, the salmon or the halibut?”
She laughs. “They’re both popular choices.”
I raise an eyebrow at her diplomatically evasive comment. “Have you tried them?” I press.
She sucks her lips into her mouth.
“Oooh, what should I know?” I ask greedily, because clearly, she’s got a secret.
She shakes her head and smiles. “There’s nothing wrong with either choice,” she assures me. Then, she leans in and whispers, “I just don’t eat seafood.”
I burst out laughing, and she covers her mouth with a hand to hide her smile. “All right then,” I reply. “But I’m really going to need more help deciding.” I pause. “Is Scott ready for me?”
“Oh,” she says, her mouth rounding in surprise. “We still have desserts, so I think he’s downstairs taking care of something. You don’t have to decide now. Or I could get the chef for you, if you’d like?”
I consider that for a moment. “Actually, it might take me a few minutes before I’m ready for dessert. If they’re available, I’d love to speak to them.” And bow at their feet for this amazing meal. But I don’t say that part out loud. Don’t want to make it weird — though that is my specialty.
Anna smiles again in her quiet way. “I’ll go get him.”
I take a sip of my water and use the break to stare out over the bay. The sun shines dimly through scattered clouds, and a light breeze plays off the water, keeping everything just cool enough to enjoy the day. Too soon, footsteps snap me back to reality. I turn my head and lay eyes on a striking man carrying a basket of bread.
In a white side-button jacket with black trim, he must be the chef, though he looks like he’s not much older than me. And he might be the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. With rich, dark brown hair, sharp blue eyes, and a close-cut beard that highlights cheekbones to die for, the sight of him approaching makes me freeze awkwardly in my chair.
This is the person who made all that amazing food? All words leave me as he sets the breadbasket down and extends a hand.
“I’m Chef Davies,” he introduces himself. His voice is just as warm as his smile, and deep enough to send chills down my spine. “And I hear you need some help picking a main course.”