A nap back at the hotel was a necessary luxury before hopping on the Metro at Grand Central and heading to SoHo for additional window-shopping and dinner at Slow Food favorite Savoy. After a failed attempt at a meet-up with a local friend, I decided to still try for dinner at Savoy.
Savoy is a cozy, two-story jewel box of a restaurant on Prince at Crosby. Despite my lack of reservations, I was allowed to sit at a tiny round table next to the picture windows, in the front of the downstairs bar.
I ordered a glass of house red wine and the charcuterie plate ($12) to start, which featured a few paper-thin slices of Serrano ham, their own house-cured sopressata, which was good, and their house-cured mortadella, which was amazing. These treats were accompanied by house-made condiments (pickles and a scarlet-colored mustard, made with figs, that was as attractive as it was delicious), a tiny taste of house-made pork rillettes, and little toasted bread slices. They had also brought me a bread basket with three presumably house-made breads, but it was mostly neglected due to the temptations provided by the charcuterie.
My entrée decision was easy to make, as soon as my affable waiter started to say that the night's special entrée was venison ($28). Venison is one of my all-time favorite treats, and it exemplifies the holidays to me. I was pleased he didn't ask me how I wanted it cooked; that small detail, on the heels of the impressive starter, gave me a level of certainty that it was going to be marvelous, as well as instilling my faith in the chef and the restaurant.
The venison came out with dark edges and the requisite, desired, non-bloody-but-still-vibrant, red-pink middle, surrounded by a light sauce of its own drippings, on a bed of roasted brussells sprouts and roasted chestnuts (for that perfect winter touch), and a big fluffy bed of pureed and whipped parsnips that looked exactly like a mound of mashed potatoes but had all the rich, earthy taste I'd expect from parsnips. I savored the bites of this meal.