January 12, 2010--Snowbirding: Early-Birding

To New Yorkers such as Rona and me, I mean Manhattanites—actually I mean for those of us who live Downtown in New York City—the thought of eating dinner earlier than 7:30 or even 8:30 is enough to make one lose one’s appetite.

But down here in South Florida, and by this I do not mean South Beach, we find ourselves surrounded by early-birders. Folks who wander from shopping plaza to shopping plaza looking for Italian or o seafood or Chinese restaurants that offer dinners at steep discounts if, and to us this is an insurmountable “if,” if you are seated for dinner no later than 5:30.

But if you do, with or without a disguise, depending on how secure or insecure you are about being spotted eating so early by one of your Soho neighbors (and assuming your digestive system can get comfortable with eating during what we still consider to be the middle of the afternoon), there are some dining deals to be had.

For example, at a decent Italian spot near here on the beach, if you show up well before sunset, you can get spaghetti vongole for just $15.95 as opposed to $21.95 after 6:00; and it includes a cup of soup, a salad, and coffee. Wine and dessert are additional. And at this place, the portions are so generous that there is enough for a doggie bag for the remaining pasta and clams. There is also always bread left over that the owners, knowing how to keep their clientele coming back, are glad to wrap up and toss in the take-home bag. And if you take the plunge and order a bottle of wine, whatever you haven’t finished can be recorked and also taken with you. So, for not much money you can have a perfectly decent and filling meal and still have enough left over for another dinner.

All you need to do is make a few adjustments in hunger management and overcome any self-image problems eating this early presents. Of course, if you don’t want to gain too much weight, you have to restrain yourself from falling asleep too early when you get back home by 7:00 (this is assisted by early afternoon napping); by not finishing at 8:00 what you brought home presumably for the next day; and if you do manage to stay up until at least 9:00 manage not to give in to the temptation to snack, especially if you had Chinese food—you know what they say about its being delicious though it leaves you feeling hungry in an hour.

Just as we were struggling with all these complicated biological, economic, and above all psychological issues, I saw an article in the New York Times about how in this new Era of Frugality, early-birding in some places is getting to be a cool thing. Since above all I have a predisposition to wanting to be or at least appear to be cool, I read the piece very carefully since I am admittedly struggling with certain aspects of aging and mid-life self-definition.

Here are some of the reporter’s insights:

In Miami Beach, at the respectable Café Prima Pasta, after the owner last year saw all his investments in real estate slip underwater and as he began to notice many of his regular customers food shopping in Publix, people who before their own investments sink ate out every night, seeing his restaurant half full even on weekends, he for the first time began offering early-bird specials. If you arrived for dinner before 6:00 p.m., everything on the menu was 50 percent off.

He expected that at best this would attract just retirees living on fixed or reduced incomes. Yes, they did show up to take advantage of the bargain; but he also began to notice, even at 5:30 or 6:00, an increasing number of young people, including a hip crowd—women in mini skirts and nose studs and men with full heads of hair.

And with so many here either unemployed or finding themselves in reduced circumstances, pretty much everyone is scrimping in one way or another. Thus the shame has begun to be taken out of wanting to spend less. In fact, even those with a few remaining bucks are feeling some reluctance to let it all hang out.

But for those who still can’t deal with accepting this new more austere reality, some places are resisting calling their early-bird specials early-birds. For example, the Benihanas in South Florida are euphemistically calling their early-bird dinners “twilight dining,” and Café Baci in Sarasota calls its early-birds “early dining.”

I say, whatever works. And in that spirit, on Wednesday, after going to the movies to see “It’s Complicated” (the 3:00 p.m. show), we thought that rather than eating leftovers at our place, we’d try the new Chinese restaurant in an adjacent shopping plaza.

“But it’s not even six o’clock,” I whined. “No one eats diner that early. Other than my 101 year-old mother.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rona said, “Half the people down here eat at this time. You know that. So stop pretending we’re back in Greenwich Village. We’re hungry, right?” I sheepishly nodded, “So stop pouting and let’s see if we can get a table.”

“There should be no trouble with that,” I offered with conviction. “It’s so ridiculously early. It’s still daylight.”

Well, in fact I was quite wrong--there were no tables inside and even every seat at the sushi-bar-like counter was occupied. “This must be a good place,” I said, “to be so busy at this time.”

Rona just looked at me as if to say, “You’re so out of touch.”

There was an empty outdoor table, even though it was situated virtually in the mall’s parking lot; and since we were hungry and had made a commitment to take the risk of being seen eating this early, and though I hadn’t as yet spotted any women in short skirts and none of the men had fell heads of undyed hair, we nonetheless slid into the last available seats.

“I’m sure we won’t run into anyone from New York,” I said as I, just in case, slipped lower in my seat and hid my face behind the plastic sheathed menu.

“You’re being silly,” Rona said, “Just look at the specials. They sound quite good. There’s roughy steamed with scallions and ginger and one of you favorites, Singapore Chow Mei Fun. Though I wonder if they’ll use enough curry to make it spicy enough for you.” She looked around at our neighbors as if to indicate that considering the age of the other diners it would likely be tamer than we would like and were used to when we ordered it at the Big Wong back in New York’s Chinatown.

“Now you’re doing it,” I said.

“What?” Rona shot back at me.

I leaned forward to whisper so I wouldn’t be heard, “Implying that people who eat this early . . .”

But before I could finish my thought the waitress was at our table, smiling broadly, to ask if she could bring us something to drink. “Just tea and ice water,” I said. “I see you have pu erh tea. It’s our favorite.”

When she returned with our beverages she looked very carefully at her watch and asked, “When did you get here?”

“About a month ago,” I answered, “Why do you ask?” It seemed like a strange question.

“I mean this afternoon. I mean this evening.” She pointed at the table.

“Oh, here you mean. I don’t know. Maybe 15 minutes ago.”

She smiled broadly, “That’s good she said, “It’s early enough. You can have soup or an egg roll with your order.”

“But we don’t want that,” I said. “We’re interested in the steamed fish and . . .”

“It all comes.”

“What?”

“Before six you get soup or egg roll. For free. It comes.”

“Thank you. That’s nice. But still we only want the roughy, the Singapore noodles, and also some Chinese eggplant with mushrooms and water chestnuts.”

“No soup?” She had her face all scrunched up in a look of puzzlement.

“No, just that,” Rona said, sharing the responsibility for our seemingly unusual order. Actually, our calculated decision not to participate in having any freebees.

“You can take home later,” she persisted.

“We’ll be fine. Thank you for mentioning that.”

The dinner turned out to be quite delicious. Not quite Chinatown quality, and as expected the Singapore was a bit tame for us, but much more than just respectable. Surprisingly not what one would expect at a Chinese restaurant in a non-prepossessing shopping mall.

As she was clearing the table, the waitress now happy since we had told her when she had checked with us how much we were enjoying the food and had eaten virtually everything except for a few remaining scraps, she asked if we wanted the pistachio ice cream that comes with the dinner.

We both rubbed our distended stomachs and simultaneously said “No, but thank you very much.”

“You sure?” she asked, again looking puzzled, “It comes.”

“Really, we’re stuffed,” I said. “Just the check, please.”

As she turned to get it for us, a 80-something woman at the next table called out, “What about us? We want our ice cream. Pistachio. I love pistachio. It’s my favorite with Chinese food.”

The waitress, again taking a long look at her watch, responded calmly, “You had the soup, yes, and the egg roll? Both. You just get one.”

The woman, ignoring that, said again, “I want my ice cream. Pistachio.”

“But you had egg roll and wonton soup. I told you it comes with either one. But you wanted both.”

“What about them?” She was clearly referring to us. I wished I still had the menu so I could again get lost in it. “You told them they could have pistachio.”

“They had no soup. No egg roll. Neither.”

The woman tapped her husband on the arm. It looked as if he had fallen asleep over his dinner and when she poked him, he jolted into consciousness, mumbling something I couldn’t make out. In an even louder voice she broadcast, “She says they didn’t have the soup.”

“The what? What did you say?”

“She says they didn’t have the soup or the egg roll. And now she says we can’t have the ice cream. Though she wants them to have theirs. Talk to her will you.”

But before he could, at great relief to us, the waitress said, “I’ll bring you two orders of ice cream.” So as not to be misunderstood, she wiggled two fingers in their line of sight. “Two.”

“Morris doesn’t eat ice cream. It’s his cholesterol. So bring two scoops for me.” The waitress, expressionless, nodded and turned to get our check and the two scoops of pistachio. She had clearly seen it all.

To me, witnessing this exchange, in spite of what the New York Times had reported, things were not feeling at all cool that afternoon during the early-bird hour. But the food was excellent and I thought that if we come back for another dinner, we’ll be sure to arrive well after 6:30 and take our chances that they’ll still be open.

And we will remember to ask the chef to make the Singapore Chow Mei Fun more robust. We are, after all, still from Downtown.