The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Fois Gras

The thing that's hard about living in New York City is that eventually you become very accustomed to certain conveniences that you just can't get elsewhere. And it does change how you look at dating and friendly gatherings. When you live in the city and you say "come to my house for dinner", it's easier to get delivery than actually cook in your kitchen. Would you want to cook in a 15 sq ft kitchen when a telephone is your best cooking utensil?

So s few weeks ago, TGIBS invited me to dinner at his place after going to the Audubon society for a lecture (yawn) on birds of prey (huh? OK...kinda cool). We attended the lecture and before going back to his place, we grabbed a beer and a small basket of chips.

By the time it was time for dinner, I wasn't very hungry, so I figured I'd just have him order me the soup off the delivery menu.

Except...

He had arranged a friend of his to cook for us. An Italian chef. Did you know the first five words an Italian mother teaches her children? Mama, God, Yes, Good, and EAT! Ironically, all of those words are also used on her wedding night.

This chef had "eat" on her mind, and she never really told us how much food she had created. Thus, we sat down for a meal that neither of us were incredibly hungry for.

Our first course, consisted of a a bottle of pinot grigio and a small plate of antipasti (read = appetizer for 10 people). Both of us, being reformed Catholics, felt the need to clean our plates. So we began to shovel the crackers, brie, mozzarella, and salami into our stomachs.

Me...being the person that has difficulty eating solid food (if you don't know why...umm read the archives. Sept 06'...I'm tired of telling the story) was chasing all of this down with glasses of water.

By the second course of a mixed green salad with roasted beets, asparagus and a lemon pepper dressing paired with a chardonnay my stomach was sloshing and I was very full (not to mention a little drunk). But the Italian mother was not having it.

EAT!!!

The Third course of Angel Hair pasta with roma tomatoes and prosciutto was brought to the table with a pinot noir. Pasta is one of the most difficult things for me to eat, especially when cooked al dente...which is the only way an Italian would cook pasta. Upon running out of water, I was now chugging red wine to finish my food. My pants were now tight. I figured this was fine though seeing we could only have dessert after this. I was wrong.

EAT!!!


Fourth Course, minestrone soup. This woman wanted to kill us, and I actually had to undo my pants as I was getting uncomfortable. We opened another bottle of wine. As full as I was, my guilty conscience told me not to leave much food in the bowl...so I pushed.

EAT!!!

The woman brought out an entire branzino fish. Granted...they are smaller fish...but a whole fish for the two of us...on top of everything else was getting too much. As usual, I need to drink about a full bottle of water for every 10 bites of food. I was on bottle number 8 by this point...and I now had to pee.

EAT!!!

Now beginning to wish for bulimic tendencies as I watched the woman bring out our sixth course consisting of seared scallops and a corn succotash with a bottle of sangiovese. When the chef wasn't looking, I passed my scallops and some of my food to my eating companion...who was looking a little green himself. As she cleared the plates, we thanked her profusely for the dinner and started to gather the strength to get up from the table.

EAT!!!

We didn't get up fast enough and a seventh course of food, pork tenderloin with an apple brandy reduction, and roasted brussel sprouts were brought to us on plates. I looked in horror and asked the chef..."how much more is there?" She smiled and said,

EAT!!!

I seriously hurt, and secretly prayed for death. My dining companion had now undone his pants as well, and even then, it felt as if our clothes were too tight. In horror, I watched as the chef brought to the table frozen chocolate mousse and a freaking bottle of prosecco.

My companion, trying to be cute, took a spoonful and tried to bring it to my mouth, but I threatened him with castration. Yet when the Italian chef looked concerned that we didn't like the dessert...we both reluctantly ate a couple of spoons and smiled.

I looked at the backyard balcony and wondered if I could sneak out there, puke over the side, and not be observed by anyone. The only problem was that it would have entailed moving...and that wasn't about to happen very easily.

Moaning while sitting in my dining chair, I now know what a duck feels like as it's being made into fois gras. Next time...we're doing a bagel from the corner deli.

Patrick - 2:44 PM -

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