Big Daddy

Originally Posted Saturday, September 28, 2013

I had a taste for strong flavors last night after a few days of eating irregularly and sparsely.  I was not dieting and it wasn't planned.  It was simply circumstance.  After work yesterday, I asked my friend once again to accompany me to the gastro pub (or whatever the hippish name is on their sign) for shrimp and mussels.  She had simply asked to meet me for a drink, but I was emotionally drained and physically exhausted.  I needed food. 

I had planned, however, simply to have the one order of hors d'oeuvres and a drink, and then go for some cheaper place for dinner.  The steam roller came first, then the shrimp and grits, and then the heavenly mussels.  And then more steam rollers. 

"I was thinking of going someplace else for dinner," I said. 

"O.K."she said. 

I was merely the 'tweener for her this evening, a happy hour gap stop between doing some business and going to see someone else.  I was pleased with this arrangement as all I wanted this Friday evening was to get on my couch and watch recorded episodes of "Boardwalk Empire" I'd not yet seen.  It is hard to explain to people who do not like to be alone the attraction of being comfortably alone.  I like people for an hour and maybe even two, but I'm not in for the marathons that others seem to require, where a drink turns into a night.  No, that is not quite true.  I do love a drink that turns into a night.  That is something quite exciting and organic.  What I don't like is trying to sustain an evening.  That seems to me to be more like planning the company picnic.  You know that the best you can probably do is make it not suck.  Evenings that get out of hand quite on their own are another species, a completely different thing. 

"You said you were thinking Thai," she said. 

"I can't do it.  Imagine how Thai would taste after this.  It is not the same palette.  The flavors in this are strong and deep.  It would be no good to try to switch.  Let's order something here.  Perhaps we can split something."

Our waitress was a pixie, quite cute and perky, and she knew how to make a buck.  My friend would glance at me and imitate the way the way the waitress looked at me as soon as the pixie was gone. 

"I'll be right back with that," she'd say in a faux-impish voice." 

"Whats the matter?  You don't want me to have any fun?  She's like a topless dancer, silly.  She's working for tips." 

When the pixie came back, I asked her for a menu. 

"I think we're going to split an entree," I said. 

"We have some really good specials," she replied.  "We have a leg of lamb that is very good."

"You recommend it?" I asked. 

"I do." 

I looked at my friend.  "Let's have that!" 

She just smiled and shook her head.

"We'll let you know if we don't like it," I told the pixie. 

"Sure thing," she said.  "I think you will, though.  It is very good." 

When she was gone, my friend smiled. 

"She hasn't had it," I said.  "I know.  But I never cook lamb at home and probably never will.  I'm not going to order something I can make and then sit back and complain that it is not as good as mine.  Lamb is strong.  I want to stay with strong flavors." 

When the plate came, it looked a bit like a turkey wing, and it struck me that this was lamb--a baby.  Jesus, it was little.  I pictured it jumping around the pasture with its mother, but only for a moment.  The deal was done.  The thing to do now was to simply jump in. 

After dinner, I was a bit wrecked.  I'd had three perfect gin martinis before dinner.  Still, I headed to the liquor store needing a fresh supply for the night of watching television.  And then I was home.  My friend came in for a last one. 

"Don't you need to call your friend?" 

"He'll wait, trust me."

"I tell all my friends that you only come over to old C.S.'s house to drink up the good liquor.  You need to get out with your friend for the two dollar beer specials."  I am quite like that sometimes.  Funny like that, I mean. 

When I looked at the new bottle of scotch, it was almost half empty.  Jesus, were we drinking like that? Then I saw the red sippy go cup.  Uh-huh.  Fuck dollar beers, I guess. 

She finally answered her phone that had been ringing ever ten minutes for the last half hour. 

"Hello Sug.  No, I'm five minutes away.  I'll meet you by the Starbucks.  O.K.  See you then." 

"Starbucks!  Holy shit.  Starbucks?  You need to make him take you to that new bar that opened up across from the hotel.  It is wonderfully stocked and the bartenders know how to make good drinks.  Make him take you there.  Jesus, who is this guy, a Mormon?" 

No wonder she'd loaded up with my booze. 

A little while later (and it was still quite early), I woke up on the couch.  I'd missed the episode I'd put on.  I had, I determined, drunk to much on a weary spirit.  I remembered paying the tab--one hundred and fifty bucks.  That, of course, included a hefty tip for the little pixie.  Well, I thought, I'd gotten my money's worth.  But the rest of the weekend, I would have to live like a monk. 

I'll be telling you about that, too, I'm sure.