Behold! Dessert Plate! I first met you back in high school, where I thanklessly waited tables at a seafood-meets-steak house on the Chesapeake Bay. There, in the walk-in fridge, you sat perched at the ready, covered in cellophane and prepared to advertize your glorious bounty to diners already stuffed with cheap steak and cheese biscuits.
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
SHOW ME HOW
You have successfully signed up for your selected newsletter(s) - please keep an eye on your mailbox, we're movin' in!
Is that a German chocolate cake I see? Indeed it is! Look how you lean after hours of duty. Slumped from the exhaustion of tirelessly hawking your subtle sweetness all afternoon -- or did you work last evening too? Perhaps your posture is a gesture, so I might better see the soggy tiramisu hiding in your shadow. He deserves attention too.
Or flourless chocolate cake! Impressive. Between a burnt creme brulee and a stiff strawberry panna cotta you wait, ready to release your molten goo when liberated by the tines of my fork. I won't tell anyone you're nothing more than undercooked brownie batter. Your secret is safe with me.
You harken another era, Taverna dessert tray. One where broiled fish and a vegetable medley of squash and carrots could be dressed up with a garnish of curly leaf parsley and a lemon slice. Where polyester bow ties marked uniform of choice for a discerning wait staff and smoking was allowed at the bar.
Surely there's a better way to advertize dessert offerings -- on a printed menu with delicious descriptions, or teased out by a server with colorful and salacious verbiage delivered at each table after entrees are cleared. Anything would be better than you, a tired-looking tray of desserts plated hours ago. The practice stopped at nearly every other respectable restaurant. And, as difficult as this is to say, after delivering such a wonderful brunch, it should probably stop at Taverna, too.