Darien Social Certainly Is!

My first visit to Darien Social was preceded by considerable buzz. My wife and I couldn’t wait to try out this brand spanking new restaurant housed where once a furniture store stood. We spotted Darien Social’s front entrance

on a corner that anyone who knows this bedroom community at all will recognize as being just across from the train station.

We found a space in the large parking lot at the rear of the building,

and then approached what we thought must be the back entrance. Oops, locked!

So we tried the entrance further to the right.

“Bingo!” said my wife,

and we were inside.

Rounding the corner, we found this friendly reception committee.

After a substantial drive from Hamden, I hit the bathroom first, chuckling at this vintage photo of a pack of Italian men behaving like, well, an American construction crew. As an American might have said in those days, keep your mitts off that tomato.

Hey, keep your mitts off that tomato!

Just kidding. But what you are getting here are glimpses of the sparkling kitchen through the various pass-throughs.

Let me continue the restaurant tour. It was early when we first arrived, and the back dining room was still being readied.

The front dining room already had some customers. Here are views of it from each end.

And here are some of its more appealing tables. They could have your name on them.

But Ann and I headed to the already-packed bar area,

where our fellow press members were holding down a couple of tall tables.

My wife began with some pretty, girly drink (which I’m forced to admit I really liked),

while I took the manly route and ordered a terrific flight of draft beers, which included a Victory Prima Pils, a Lagunitas IPA, a Widmer Imperial IPA, and an Ommegang Abbey Ale (all of which I’m forced to admit my wife really liked).

We were greeted by highly creative chef Nick Bilello, well known to us as one of Fairfield County’s brighter lights.

And sure as shooting, the food that started coming out to our tables was nothing short of wonderful. We began with a platter of deviled eggs and slaw escorted by a flower pot full of flatbread crisps.

Although they may be dubious fare for grownups, no one likes deviled eggs better than I. My family called them “picnic eggs.” When I was young, I ate more than fifty at one outdoor affair, a feat approaching Paul Newman’s egg consumption in Cool Hand Luke. Exercising adult moderation, I had only about a dozen this time.

And there were other serious temptations floating around, including this artichoke gratin,

and two incredible pizzas, one topped with woodland mushrooms, Hooligan cheese, chives and a touch of honey,

the other with BBQ short rib, onion, horseradish cream and pink peppercorns!

Normal people would have called it a meal at this point, but we were just getting warmed up. We transferred to a couple of tables in the rear dining room,

which was now going great guns.

We were poured

a little Stellina di Notte NV Prosecco, Italy

in narrow bud vase glasses.

We looked at our press dinner menus (remember you can click on photos to enlarge them),

as well as the regular menu

and opposite-side drinks list, which were done up to look kind of like a local newspaper.

Our first course was a beautiful plate of Vermont farmstead cheeses, including Camembert-like Cloud 9 served with spiced sour cherries, Shelburne Farm 2-Year Cheddar escorted by habañero jelly, and Gore-Dawn-Zola presented with a tiny spoonful of chestnut honey.