Moonstruck, in all the glory Cher intended.

Saturday night I had a culinary experience. The first since I began writing this blog. My aunt and I headed to Moonstruck in Asbury Park, NJ. It was restaurant week down the shore, so we knew we'd be in for a delectable meal at an even more delicious price. I don't usually talk about prices, but I feel obliged to mention it in this case. The meal, appetizer, entree, and dessert, was $30.00. Not bad, not bad at all.

It was packed. With Cher's biggest fans. (Have you been to Asbury Park? If yes, you'll understand.) The hostess told us it would be 45 minutes to an hour, and without hesitation, I told my aunt that was fine. We sat at one of the cocktail tables and had a nice glass of wine and some conversation. We mostly talked about the downfall of education and academics in New York City, and how frustrating it is sometimes to be a teacher. (My aunt works for IBM and her customer is the NYC Board of Education.) After I was fully riled up, the waitress told us that our table is ready. I needed to be calmed down, and was so immediately when my aunt decided to "splurge" on a discounted-special bottle of Opus One 2005. If you have not had Opus One, you should get around to it one day. It's everything that's good and holy about church in a succinct glass bottle (and I'm convinced it is not a sacrilege to utter this, or even scream it from the hilltops). At my old place of employment in the Bronx, my dean had a slight obsession with this saintly beverage. I never miss an opportunity to rub it in his face, so pardon while I pause for picture-messaging purposes.

Anyway, I ordered the black bean soup. Not typical for me, and my first bite made me regret it. However, once I began swirling the tomatoes and cilantro and creme fraiche around, I began to pat myself on the back for making such a sagacious choice. The flavor explosion was unexpected. I began to look forward to each bite, to the point where the wine sat there, staring at me, wondering how I could pass up sipping Opus One for some black bean soup. After I slurped the last spoonful, I began wondering that of myself as well... It was as if I were in a trance! In the immortal words of Neil Diamond followers, So good, So good, So good!

Next came the most delectable part of the meal. Ed, our waiter, promised it would be good, and I'm beginning to believe Ed was a saintly man delivering holy water and heavenly food. We both had the rigatoni with pumpkin, ricotta, and walnuts, and conversation ceased. The wine was untouched. Our forks couldn't move fast enough, and we couldn't savor it slow enough. Delicious and creamy, a combination of textures and flavors. The pasta was al dente, the walnuts were soft and crunchy at the same time, the pumpkin was not overpowering, and the ricotta added a nice cream element. Try as I might, I could not finish it. Leftovers were equally exquisite, I might add.

I was not ready to marry the chef quite yet, but then came dessert. A close second to the best key lime pie I've ever had the privilege of tasting. (The best goes to my friend Katherine. I've been to Key West. I've been to Joe's Stone Crab in South Beach. I have yet to find an equal. Anywhere. Ever.) This key lime pie was creamy and limey and had a thin graham cracker crust. Cool and refreshing, and the perfect end to the meal. I decided I was ready to marry the chef. When the stars make you drool, just like pasta fagiolo, that's amore. Well, Dean, I couldn't have said it better myself. That's amore.