Picky Nicky

My very grown up pal Nick has always presented himself as a picky eater. Even his wife would complain that their toddler's palate was more mature.

Chopped up celery in Tuna Salad? Ick!

Arugula? What the heck is that?!!

Macaroni and Cheese? Only if it's out of a box!

Clearly, he's a tough one to go out to dinner with in VittlesVamp style. That said, when pressed, I've had him try basic pastas at Otto and the hamburger at Blue Smoke. They did the job, but barely.

Now though, something has happened. Something mysterious. Something powerful.

When Nick hit NYC last week, I spent time inspecting menus to find a place that might fit the bill that wasn't Applebee's. Then it came to me: the ultimate kid food that adults love too - pizza. Veloce Pizza. Nick wouldn't be willing to eat the Mushroom Pie with its Hen in the Woods and such, nor the crust, but he just might go for the Margherita, hold the basil.

We went. I hoped.

First up, we shared an app of Potato Fritters with Prosciutto di Parma, Grana Padano and Mint. They were sort of like Tater Tots, so I could see how they might pass Nick's taste test. Then came the shocker -- a salad of romaine hearts, tomato, red onion and cucumber doused in a vibrant oregano dressing. Besides being a bit put off by the dark green skin left on the slices of hothouse cucumber, Nick dove right in. Same went for the Porchetta Sausage Pie with rosemary, sage, fennel pollen, tomato sauce and mozzarella.

Nick ate FENNEL POLLEN!!!! Moreover, Nick ate the PIZZA CRUST!!!

I was in a daze as we left the restaurant, turning the corner down the East Village's strip of Indian cafes on 6th Street. Was it possible that Nick's body had been taken over by an alien with an adventurous palate? My head still spinning, suddenly Nick stopped short and took in a deep breath of the air, thick with exotic spices. He smiled and let me know how much he longed for a plate of Chicken Curry. Wasn't the smell delightful?

Whoa! YOU LOVE THE SMELL OF CURRY?????!!!!!???? Who are you? What happened to my conservative, finicky friend Nick?!? Next thing you'll tell me is that you got a tattoo or something!!!

And sure enough...

It was on his ankle. Subtle. Not a skull or anything, but a tattoo nonetheless.

All I can say is that there must be magic in that there tattoo. Magic that brought Nick's palate to life. Or at least into adulthood.

Alien or no, I promise Vamp-worthy culinary escapades the next time Nick travels to New York. And, if he keeps this up, I might even cook!