You're at that new Tom Colichio restaurant on the firm's dime, sitting next to that tenderoni who's dating that douchebag Todd from accounting. You're scanning the menu, but you only recognize every third word. Shallot? (A potato of some kind?), Babaganouj? (that Who song?), Jerusalem artichoke (still illegal in three states?). But then up pops a familiar face. Macaroni and cheese.
Sure, it's $11, but hey, you're out of college. Kraft Easy Mac is no longer the only thing standing between you and a life spent on the street turning tricks. You pull the trigger.
Raul the waiter plops it in front of you served in a little ceramic dish, or a sterling silver ramekin, or a hollowed out capuchin monkey skull. You take a bite. Your mouth is alive. Is that bourbon? Aged gouda? Creme fraiche? What's an ementaller? Who cares!?
"Say, this restaurant is somewhat expensive. Just look at the price of this Beef Wellington!"
"Hey, this place must be both hip and with-it. They offer Meat Loaf stuffed with olives and virgin goat's milk."
"Can you taste the truffled butter in the organic red mule grits?"
"Yeah, of course I can taste the truffled butter. Why? Can you not taste the truffled butter?"
"No, of course I can taste the truffled butter. I just wanted to make sure you could."
"Yeah. No, I'm definitely good."
No comments:
Post a Comment