Pork Rind Prosperity

Once is nothing, but twice is a tradition.

So I invited the same girlfriend I'd invited out last New Year's Eve and we dubbed it an annual tradition.

We were looking for a leisurely meal to celebrate 2013 so I chose Enoteca Sogno, making a reservation for two at the bar.

Points always go to restaurants that take bar reservations.

When we arrived at 9, the place was packed with revelers, but our two stools were waiting for us.

Next to us at the bar was wine god Bob from Can Can, looking extremely dapper in a dark blue suit with a pale shirt and tie combination that looked most elegant.

There was never an question but that bubbles were the order of the evening, but it was choosing the bubbles that challenged.

Luckily, the barkeep was patient as we took our time choosing glasses of Montelliana Prosecco and then toasting each other.

Then we opened up the floor for others to entertain us.

The guys next to us were of no use, using phrases like "real Amuricans," so we were glad when they left.

They were replaced with a stylish couple, she with a chignon and he with a decidedly European look and accent.

Talk of the music playing got Bob's attention and he amused us with stories of stumping the "kids" he worked with at Can Can.

Apparently he's got an encyclopedic knowledge of music from 1955 forward and a discussion of an all-night Elvis-watching party in his youth followed tales of Roy Orbison.

There was a musical quiz and I got several right as Bob sang snippets from his youth in Ames, Iowa.

Eventually the Prosecco dictated that we begin eating and we turned to the special New Year's Eve menu.

Bob had been eating the crostini with mascarpone (and a dissertation on the frequent misspelling of that word) with Osetra caviar.

He admitted that the dish had been a tease, making him want less bread and cheese and more eggs.

We decided on the Robiola cheese, a fresh cow's milk cheese from the Piedmont region and served with honey.

The cheese, with over 50% fat, was to die for and we slathered it thickly on bread like butter and drizzled it lightly with the honey before scarfing it down.

It soon became clear that more bubbles were in order, so we moved on to Orsolani Erbaluce di Caluso 2006, getting beautiful bubbles and lemony fruit in the bargain.

Looking at the special menu, I saw that they were serving a dish Italians traditionally serve for New Year's, Cotechino sausage with lentils.

I asked the bartender about it and he handed me off. "Ask Paolo," he said, gesturing toward the Italian on a nearby stool.

"My mother makes it every year since I was a little boy," he said with a smile. "But I've been eating it so long, so now I tell her no thanks when she invites me over for Cotechino for the new year."

Since we were non-Italians and hadn't been eating it since childhood, we decided to try the rustic dish with the pork rind sausage.

When it arrived smelling earthy and wonderful, the five slices of sausage were arranged over a bed of lentils and the owner said the placement was intentional, intended to evoke coins over a pile of small change.

The dish, he said, is eaten on New Year's to ensure good luck and prosperity in the new year.

Well, who couldn't use some of that?

I loved the coarse, fatty sausage and I adore lentils, so the dish was a home run for me although my friend found it too unique for her taste.

But she was wallowing in a bowl of Brussels sprouts, a dish she traditionally makes for Christmas but hadn't this year.

Her holiday wasn't going to be complete until she ate some and we finally took care of scratching that Christmas itch for her.

We got into an intense  discussion with Bob about cultural literacy, having to define words for colleagues and the  number of people with no appreciation for the Bard.

Bob surprised us both by beginning to recite a Shakespeare soliloquy as we sat back in our stools, rapt at lucking into someone willing to recite for us.

That was about the time that some French bubbly started showing up, brought by Bob to share with those who lingered long enough.

We hadn't intended to, but all of a sudden it was 11:50 and we were told, "As long as you're here now, you may as well stay and celebrate here."

Who were we to argue?

We'd wanted to order the caramel and sea salt budino but it had sold out, so the bartender brought us bread pudding, a nice gesture if an unsatisfactory substitution.

But with tastings of Barolos and Barbarescos coming our way, we'd have been fools to be anywhere else.

M Ward yielded to Led Zeppelin on the sound system and more music talk resulted.

I chatted up the woman next to me and she must have been feeling her wine because she shared all kinds of things I had no business hearing.

Let's just say the age difference and the size of her mate were among the tidbits she laughingly offered unsolicited.

But it was almost 2 a.m. by that time, so we may have all been over-sharing a bit.

All told, we'd had an excellent meal, plenty of celebratory bubbles and the kind of erudite conversation a girl can only hope for when she leaves the house on the last night of the year.

I even got a mash note.

"Karen, You are hilarious! So hilarious, as in Gene Wilder in "Young Frankenstein"! I love ya! Thanks for making me laugh."

What better night to spend laughing?

And now it's a tradition, so I already have a date for next New Year's Eve.