Fiola Mare (Georgetown)
I went on this solo experience specifically to celebrate my late father’s birthday. Each year since his passing, I have a meal in his honor — something he would enjoy (always Italian). These solo meals have become the most sacred to me, and this year I choose Fiola Mare.
My father, Richard, and I got to spend hundreds of hours together at tables around the world — from the Amalfi Coast to Santa Barbara to rural Pennsylvania, where I grew up— throughout my teens, 20s and 30s. The purpose was always to enjoy — slowly — with gratitude, presence and joie de vivre. Whether the topic of discussions were school, work, travels, history or life in general, they always paired well with wine and food.
I miss these meals everyday, and every so often I can even hear his voice pop in when I’m savoring what’s in front of me: “Mmmm! These flavors!”
In Barcelona, on his 80th birthday trip, after entirely too much cava and paella.
I’m delighted to share this review of my experience, and deep bow to Fiola Mare for making it better than I could have imagined. Not only was I made to feel like any other 2+ table, I felt seen, valued and important.
The sommelier took great care to choose a wine to honor my father, asking where in Italy my family is from, what he liked, and what I liked. He brought me a complimentary glass of a port-style wine that he thought would go well with my dessert. Warm and friendly servers brought complimentary Prosecco for my oysters, additional treats for dessert, and have mastered the art of being authentic, engaging and attentive.
The manager came to my table and asked about my private practice, commenting on how interesting he finds my work (in psychedelic medicine and therapy) to be. If you’re thinking, “they’re just saying that to make you feel important”, that’s the point. It didn’t matter if the manager knew anything about psychedelic medicine (but if not, he pulled off a genuine interest) — he made it his job to know what I do for a living (with the help of my social media presence and their internal system) and he made time to mention it because it makes people feel seen. That’s the point.
When leaving, I imagined my father and I rolling our full bellies out of the restaurant, deciding to walk home laughing and recalling our favorite parts of the meal. My father was old school; he made a habit of recognizing fantastic service and had an unapologetic (borderline tactless) penchant for calling out the lack of it. And I loved him for that.
To quote my father (probably), “Superb. Just… superb.”
