On Saturday, the night of the full moon at perigee, my husband, Clif, and I celebrated our thirty-fourth wedding anniversary. This year, we decided to do something a little special, even though thirty-four is not a landmark anniversary. Because of my breast cancer diagnosis in August, it has been a rather trying six months, not only for me but for Clif as well. Unfortunately, illness affects the entire family, not just the person involved, and I have felt so sorry for the strain this has put on Clif as well as rest of the family. But, my radiation treatments are over, my prospects are good, and this put us in a festive mood—ready, as always, to splurge on food.

I found out about Fuel Restaurant when I recently had lunch at Marché in Lewiston with my friend Sybil. (I wrote a piece about it for this blog.) It seems that Marché is a sister restaurant to Fuel, and the food—big, tender saucy crepes stuffed with ingredients—was so good that I was eager to try Fuel. (Except for a Monday night dinner, Marché only serves lunch, and Fuel only serves dinner. They are across the street form each other. Why the separation, I do not know, and I’m not sure I really care.)

Lewiston is about a half hour from where we live, and that was an added attraction—we did not have to drive very far. As an extra bonus, the Bates College Museum of Art was open that night, which meant that Clif and I could have an evening of art and food, a perfect combination for us.

Fuel bills itself as a “modern bistro…solidly based around French country food,” and that is certainly a fair description of the place. Like Marché, the décor is hip, arty, and a little dark but nevertheless very comfortable. On Saturday, Fuel was mostly full and quite noisy, and this is my only complaint. With all the bustle and loud conversation, Fuel was not a relaxing place to eat.

But, when the fresh garlic bread—pillow-soft on the inside and crunchy on the outside— and the cocktails arrived, all concerns about the noise vanished. After all, there’s nothing like a pomegranate martini, sweet and potent, to put a smile on your face and make the noise seem mellower than it is. Clif’s drink, a rum and ginger drink called Dark and Stormy, was not as strong, and a good thing, too. Someone had to drive home.

Before hand, we had decided to go whole hog, so to speak, with cocktails, appetizers, entrée, and dessert (shared!). Our appetizer, also shared, consisted of little Maine shrimp mixed with chorizo in a white wine sauce—the effect was sweet and spicy—and the sauce was so good that when the bread, shrimp, and chorizo were gone, we used our spoons to get the last of it.

Then came the main meal—for me, balsamic braised pork and for Clif, steak au poivre. The pork was so tender it really did fall off the bone, but incredible as it might seem, what I ate first were the Brussels sprouts (roasted, I think) and the chunks of sweet potato, all in that fragrant red-wine sauce. Clif said his steak was outstanding, another combination of sauce and meat, for which French cuisine is so famous.

Yes, we had room for dessert, a chocolate terrine—picture mousse solid enough to slice—drizzled with caramel and served with a small scoop of ice cream.

Readers, we ate it all, and while we were appropriately full, stuffed you might even say, we didn’t have a bit of indigestion that night.

The bill was a bit pricey, I won’t deny it, but this really was a memorable meal, one that I would never make for myself or Clif. Meat and sauces, however delectable, are not what I want to concentrate on when I cook. (There will be more about this in an upcoming post.) But if the budget allowed, Fuel would be a monthly treat, and indeed, there is a bar menu—only for the bar—that is considerably cheaper and worth considering.

When we came outside, the full moon—the brightest and closest it has been for eighteen years—shone on us, and we admired its beauty. Other patrons, seeing us gaze at the moon, did likewise.

And all the way home, the moon went with us, lovely and shining and throwing shadows on the road, fields, and houses.

 

Addendum: For reasons known only to the computer gods, the comments section for this post does not work. (On other posts, the comments section works just fine. What the heck!) Clif is working on the problem, but he remains baffled. If readers really feel a yen to comment, just leave one on the previous post. I’ll get the picture.

Our apologies!