You had me at "Selection of Imported Cheeses"

Many years ago, when Katie and I were young and foolish, we travelled a little bit. We visited New York on a number of occasions and if we didn't quite paint the town red, we at least managed a vague mauve-ish tint.

On one of our last trips there we had a spectacular meal in a restaurant on West 54th Street. Everything was perfect; the food, the wine, the atmosphere. We were served by an imposing but friendly Italian-American chap from Long Island. ("What's your name?" "John." "No, really, what's your name?" "OK, then, it's actually Giovanni.") We ended up at the bar drinking with a bloke who arranges the um, 'background talent' for hip-hop videos. It was a great, if rather random, night.

For reasons that are lost to me right now the restaurant, or rather its parent company, have my email address. Every now and again they send me details of current offers, being blissfully aware that they're writing to someone 3,500 miles and one Atlantic Ocean away. They're a responsible outfit, so I could easily unsubscribe if I wanted to. But there's something about their invitations that I find quite...inviting. The latest, advertising a Tuscany-themed evening at one of their restaurants in a place called Syosset (seriously, I have no idea), is a case in point. Let's have a look at the sample menu:

Selection of imported Tuscan cheeses

Right. Sit me down and let me get down to business. This might not be pretty.

Mackerel Crudo, caper berries, Cerignola olives and lemon

I think I've dribbled onto my keyboard. is MY cAps Lock WoRKing?

Braised wild boar ragout open faced ravioli with shaved truffle pecorino

Seriously, I would want to marry this course. I think Katie would give her permission if it meant she could have leftovers.

Bone-in dry aged filet mignon, cannelini beans, Chianti wine reduction

Christ on a bike. I've gone all unnecessary. I didn't even make a smutty reference to the phrase "Bone in". I must have it bad.

Almond biscotti and fresh berries, with Frangelico Zabaione

Because if you're going to have a Zabaione, we might as well make it Frangelico-based. That's what I've always thought. (Goes off to Wikipedia. Realises that Zabaione is the same as Zabaglione. Ooh. Custard. Feels better about himself).

Let's be completely honest. The chances of us sitting down in this restaurant in the near future are remote. I should really just unsubscribe, so the good people responsible for their marketing can concentrate their efforts on someone who, well, actually knows where the heck Syosset is.

But I like getting these emails. They remind me of a less responsible, more indulgent time. And in these austere post-recessionary days that's no bad thing.

Now, if you don't mind, I really do have to fix this keyboarD.