An Underground Secret Question

Within the long time frame of my absence from my readers, there has been a life-changing transition that has sent me into spirals of excitement, confusion, and novelty. Southern gentility has officially greeted the Wild West. A few months ago, I relocated from Birmingham, Alabama, to Albuquerque, New Mexico, to work at the Center for Integrated Nanotechnologies at Sandia National Laboratories. This move has been different to say the least, but one of the things that keeps me turning the page in anticipation are the new gastronomic experiences that await on my days off from work.

Since my arrival, I have found myself even more loaded down with research than I was in Birmingham, often trapped in the cold, empty laboratory patiently waiting on data to apply towards my thesis project. However, I occasionally am able to catch a breath of air and steal away to enjoy precious moments in the paradise of freedom.

Even though the Thanksgiving festivities are over, the memories linger. My best friend Moriah was gracious enough to travel all the way to Albuquerque this year to see me close to the holiday since I was resigned to be separated from my family on the day of feasting. At first, she suggested driving from Mississippi to New Mexico and back over a three-day window - insane, I know - but finally I convinced her to take the flights, despite the large amount of holiday traffic.

I wanted to dress up to go out. And by dress up, I mean in the rarely used banquet style dresses that hung in my closet like lonely spinsters. Why not, I asked Moriah. Who cares if we stood out? Why not let the world be your runway? So, with many nervous giggles, she acquiesced, much to the pleasure of her best friend.

She wore a deep blue, strapless dress that emphasized her porcelain shoulders and flaxen hair, while I donned a sparkling bright, red dress that perfectly matched the passion I felt for the evening. To satiate my readers' curiosity as well as confirm how radical I can in fact be, I have shared some photos that she and I captured in front of my newly decorated Christmas tree before leaving for dinner.

Vernon's Speakeasy in Albuquerque, NM

Taken from the restaurant Facebook profile

Where do I even begin? How do I start when the very essence of this restaurant is a secret? A secret I now share with my readers. 

When Moriah and I arrived late that evening, we looked around us. Nowhere was there to be found a sign, a postage, a hint for direction. Vernon's is themed to glimpse into history during the Prohibition Era when young men and women of different races sneaked away to the underground world where they could enjoy their taste of liquor. From what I have heard, the more restricted the access, the more eager people were to indulge. Though I do not care for the alcoholic beverage myself, this culinary experience brought much of the same feeling for me. The more I searched for this place and its hidden treasure, the more I could not wait to find it. 

Finally, she and I found the door under a bright red light. We knocked. We waited. A shutter in the door opened, and the man inside proceeded to ask for the password. Having been already given the password when I made the reservation, I proceeded to say "Fake Lou Artist." After confirming that we were indeed not members of any police force, the door opened. Once we were led inside, we stood in a small room and were given a spiel about the rules and regulations of the place. Subsequently affirming that we would in fact follow the rules, a door behind a bookcase was opened, and we were ushered into the candle-lit dining room where a warm fire burned in a fireplace in the corner.

Oh, this was such a delightful evening! I glanced over the menu and desperately struggled with my final decision. Everything on the list looked absolutely divine. How could I choose? For appetizer, I finally settled with the warm duck salad with spinach and arugula leaves drenched in a roasted shallot dressing. Not only was the duck meat as tender and juicy as any duck I had ever tasted in my life, but it was perfectly complimented with bacon bits, firm grape tomato halves, and whipped goat cheese. I do not know if I will ever again taste such luxury from this waterbird. With tears starting to well up in my eyes from such a grand burst of flavor, I looked over at Moriah who was enjoying her garden salad. One of the things I love about Moriah is her love sometimes for the most simple things of life. I did not quite understand why she would come to a place like this and settle for a dish she could find anywhere, but as her little lips pressed so cutely together to chew her spring vegetable mix and then shifted into a smile, I did not question. She was happy.

We then moved to the main course, where Moriah ordered the wild Canadian salmon bruschetta. She let me sample her dish, and it was delicious. I was a little confused by the pesto and goat cheese risotto cake that rested under the salmon, for it tasted a bit of crab. To this day, I am left confused but in the end all that matters is that it provided a tasteful encounter. That it did. Ironically, despite everything on the plate, Moriah's eyes lit up when she found herself most pleased with the balsamic reduction that was drizzled over the bruschetta toasts. It was the vinegar. Simple things. 

I gave her such a hard time during the meal, bless her heart, as she worried so much about embarrassing herself in using her utensils correctly. I tried to contain my teasing laughter when she would jump in her chair the minute her fork and knife would clank against the plate. She proceeded to explain how she felt more comfortable when her boyfriend took her to their local Taco Bell, a location to this day that I will not step foot in. So, for my sake, I thanked her for joining me on this formal adventure. I had ordered the 14 oz. boneless ribeye with the sides of parmesan crusted asparagus and whipped mashed potatoes, and I was enjoying it immensely. I took great pleasure in the flavors of my food, of the elegance of my table, and the romantic nature of my surroundings. It was a dream world in which I wanted to stay. 

Continuing to speak in low tones and laughing about memories from the past and memories that will be formed in the future, Moriah and I moved to dessert. To make sure Moriah got the most out of the evening, I let her pick dessert for us to share and she wisely landed on the chocolate decadence cake that was topped with a Bavarian creme. I enjoyed letting it settle with a side of decaf coffee. Chocolate was a perfect way to cover the after taste of the steak, and I am sure equally served its purpose in pairing with the salmon. 

It was a lovely evening. As Moriah and I drove home, she was breathing her sighs of relief from her release from the formality of it all (all of which I will never forget she endured for the sake of her best friend), and I kept thinking back to those last few flavors, those last tender feelings I embraced in that dimly lit room. Which is better? To live in the world always at ease, never disappointed with your circumstances? Or to live your life waiting and anticipating the high, treasuring those moments of emotion on a deeper level that some will never grasp? It has been the question of the age. I will leave it for my readers to decide.