I’ve had a few favorite restaurants over the years, and they became favorites for different reasons (the food, pleasant associations, great atmosphere, combinations thereof) but never before have I had a restaurant become a favorite after conjuring it in its entirety from my imagination, asking someone where it was, and finding it there, fully realized and perfect. But that’s how it was with Ariel’s in Brookfield.
Kris’ mom was up visiting from Wednesday through Sunday night, andFriday she took over kid duty and cut us loose for a very rare nightout as a couple. (Brought back fond memories as Kristen used to be mypartner when I went out to write restaurant reviews back in the day).We tossed around a bunch of different ideas, from movies to theater tocatching a band, but in beginning and the end, it had to be dinner.
Friday afternoon I asked Anita at work (and I trust her judgment inthese matters) where Ariel’s was. Except I didn’t know the name andwhether it really existed. I forget exactly how I put it, but the gistwas that I was hoping to find a restaurant on the first floor of an oldhouse, off the beaten path, the more character-drenched the better,with terrific food, local ingredients, a good wine list
