I hate small plates. It’s not that I don’t like trying tons of different items, it’s the actual accumulation of all of those fucking plates all over the table. Well, sharing sucks too. (It’s something I’m working on.)
While in Copenhagen this past summer my friend, and food editor of the Broward-Palm Beach New Times, Melissa and I found Pegasus. With no English menus, we let the owner—with limited English—half describe and half order for us. We discovered Danish small plates, but instead of being served on a million little plates it was presented on stately silver platters. We ate fantastic and smoky duck sausage, creamy cheeses, zippy mustard and loads and loads of dark rye bread.
It felt like a true feast, not this itty bitty finger food dining crap that is small plates.
After we befriended the rowdy table next door—who happened to be buds with the owners—we stayed way past close and learned the shady past of the dark-haired man who brought us our food.
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