By Emily Maas
Half a pineapple sat on the plate. It was carved out like a rowboat, and its passengers were juicy scallops and shrimp. The seafood was mixed with chopped green and red peppers as well as what could only be assumed as the entire half of the pineapple in neatly chopped squares. The dish, at Shanghai Jazz in Madison, soared to the top of everyone’s radar. My plate was the most unique, and it commanded the attention of my table—my boyfriend, father and stepmother—as well as the tables surrounding us.
“What is that?” asked a wide-eyed woman, enviously. “It’s on the specials,” I replied, grinning.
It’s not like me to order something so extravagant. No one else’s plate was quite as dazzling. Talk about taking a chance. I had already taken a chance by picking a restaurant known for innovative Asian food and jazz music, as opposed to an average, bland Italian restaurant. For five straight years, I had insisted on a birthday dinner at Macaroni Grill. I could smell my usual penne vodka and hear the waiters singing, “Tanti auguri a te,” for a moment before I snapped back to the present. I must be growing up. This restaurant—and the meal choice—proves it.
As showtime approached, the restaurant slowly filled. Voices rose, as couple after couple walked in—some old, some young, some new—all settling into booths or small round tables. Within minutes, the jazz quartet walked in the back door and began setting up drums and music stands and shuffling papers around.
“The entire meal left me feeling warm and comfortable, as if I were eating my own little world, a pineapple sailboat going around the volcanic island of a drink.”
As I began my meal, the overall effect of pineapple mesmerized. The juice infiltrated every bite, meat and vegetable alike. The scallops and shrimp were tender, smooth, but sweet. The peppers crunched. I couldn’t have enough. No one had ever seen me eat so much at a restaurant.Light piano jazz with background instrumentals surfed through the air as the room calmed. People spoke less—everyone was too busy eating and enjoying the atmosphere. The quartet was playing selections from Vince Guaraldi’s “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” which included holiday tunes that reminded me of childhood Christmases.
But I’m no longer a child. Witness too the alcoholic beverage sitting next to my plate. It was called a Scorpion Bowl, meant to be shared, a drink for me and my boyfriend. Despite its menacing name, it was a surprisingly friendly drink. A large ceramic bowl, decorated with blue flowers, held the pink liquid. The center held a smaller bowl of Cointreau, set on fire, giving the beverage a spectacular volcanic effect. Sugary and strong, the rum-infused drink complemented the pineapple platter, just teetering on the edge of too sweet.
The entire meal left me feeling warm and comfortable, as if I were eating my own little world, a pineapple sailboat going around the volcanic island of a drink.
It was a strange birthday dinner, but rewarding. All I know is, I’m never picking Macaroni Grill again. Who knows what exotic restaurant will catch my eye next year?
Emily Maas is a senior at Rutgers University where she majors in journalism & media studies and English.
Photo Credit: Aaron Escobar
