80
R. Linda:
The powers that be gave me an assignment that sounded like a sweet deal. I jumped on it because I was going to interview a leading San Francisco tycoon and get a free gourmet dinner in the process. Rubbing me hands together in me mind, I made me connections with the tycoon's personal assistant, and off I went to a well-known epicurean establishment in the financial district.
There I was suited up in me best bib and tucker striding into dim gold lighting, where waiters dressed in tuxedo trousers, pressed white shirts with tux ties, black gleaming shoes (the very picture of upper class service), were bustling about with platters full of gourmet delights. I inhaled to make sure me pee cat Italian shoes were not giving meself away and stepped up to the Maitre' d waiting behind the ornate cherry wood podium. He was a haughty one he was, eyeing me down his rather long proboscis. I noticed the epaulettes on his jacket and instantly knew I was being sized up big time because this guy was major league in the Maitre' d business.
I put me best Irish on and announced me glorious name and as I got that far, the man squinted his eyes together as if to say, do you really think with that name you'll be seated in THIS establishment, hum, do you? I hurried on to tell him the name of the man I was meeting and oh R. Linda, how his expression changed. At first it was disbelief, but once he gained his composure (which was Maitre' d professional) within seconds, he busied himself with the reservation list. He flicked the given name off with a gold tipped fountain pen, picked up two Moroccan red leather menus with gold tassels attached, and with a "Right this way, Mr. O' Sullivan," (Said with a French accent), we took off into the inner sanctum of expensive dinning.
There I was seated at a fine mahogany table, dressed in bright white linen, sparkling crystal of which there were five stemmed glasses arranged just so, and the finest gold edged china laid before me. I notice the silverware wasn't silver, it was gold! Begorrah me R. Linda, never in me born days have I seen gold forks and spoons. I was bloody impressed, but I wasn't able to spend too much time on impressed, because Frenchie handed me the wine list, introduced Jean Paul (the wine captain), and handed him the menu to hand to me. I guess I had cooties.
So there I be awaiting me tycoon interview, Jean Paul suggesting a bottle of Lalande 1982, at $332.00 a bottle. I asked him if he could give me a moment, as I was awaiting Mr. Gotrocks (that isn't his name, but should be), and I thought he and I should discuss choices then. I got a "very good, sir," and off he bustled. I didn't need the moment to think of wine, I needed the moment to get the pitter-patter of me wine priced heart calmed back down.
A water boy came and poured ice water in the glasses as I was beginning to sweat. $332.00 for a bottle of wine, how much was dinner? Me expense account didn't allow for extravagant meals, so I took a look at the menu. no prices whatsoever and that spelled trouble. Appetisers began with a Grilled Mahi-Mahi, Beluga Caviar served with Creme Fraiche on Garlic Toast, Oysters Rockefeller, Roast Lobster Risotto with Saffron Vinaigrette, Stuffed Portobello Mushrooms in a Champagne Sauce, Escargot on a bed of Spiced Red Cabbage. OH MY. The soups were Chilled Strawberry, Parsnip and Rosemary, French Onion (naturally), Cream of Asparagus with Dill. For dinner Gresingham Duck and Foie Gras Terrine with Confit of Sour Cherries, Roasted Saddle of Venison served with Whipped Sweet Potato Ribbons, Juniper Scented Game on Sage and Onion Mash, served with Sauteed Leeks and Rack of Lamb. For dessert, Champagne Sorbet, Warm Raspberry Souffle', Sticky Ginger Pudding with Cardamon Scented Custard, Iced Cranachan Parfait with Mull Whiskey and Shortbread (on the menu for me host -- how much clout is that?), Baked Vanilla Cheesecake with Strawberries and Vanilla Ice, Liquid Centre Chocolate and Banana Bread Pudding with Caramel Ice Cream and Bitter Chocolate Sauce. Meanwhile, the bread and rolls had arrived, warm and inviting accompanied by black truffle butter.
I never heard of most of these dishes in me life. As I pondered, me host showed up with the Maitre' d in attendance. he was a ruddy faced man, Scottish by birth, worth millions on investing in real estate in the USA. He thrust out a meaty hand, introduced himself as Maitre' d held his chair so he could sit. I had stood up upon greeting (me mam taught me some manners), holding me tie back in one hand, shaking the offered hand with the other. Jean Paul was instantly there as Maitre' d left. The wine list appeared once again and this time me host took charge. "Gabriel, I have a hankering for cognac, let's dispense with the wine and just enjoy the spirits."
I thought Jean Paul would have a heart attack at this, but when me host ordered a bottle (yes a bottle) of Remy Martin Louis XII, Jean Paul looked smuggly satisfied. He presented the decanter (which me host got to keep) which is Baccarat crystal, a very expensive high end crystal. I later found out what we were drinking was over $1200 a bottle. Had I known I'd have been struck dead with the thought. However, I did suspect by the container the liqueur came in, it was expensive. I be not one for cognac, but this was warmed at our table by Jean Paul and poured into brandy sniffers that were handed to us wrapped in a warm towelette. Me host put the towelette down, held up his glass to me, and said, "Cheers," to which we both took a sip.
The amber liquid flowed down me throat like a silk stocking sliding down a smooth leg. I must say, I was impressed beyond all reason. THIS, was the good stuff all right. We got the amenities out of the way and picked up the menus. I was not knowing what to do, and since me host was a regular at this fine establishment, I had him order for me.
I won't bore you with details, but everything was a feast. We ended the dinner on the note we started it, with more cognac. Me brain was swimming since everything I ate was cooked in some kind of alcohol. It wasn't until near the middle of the main course, I did notice something strange. Me host had ordered us up a bottle of Chateau Margaux 1995 (later the bill said it cost $405.00 a bottle -- we had two), and as we had finished the first and were awaiting the second, I had a powerful thirst. I looked to me right and me water glass was filled with melting ice cubes. Now R. Linda, I knew when I sat down it was filled with water and ice. I hadn't had a sip. I noticed me host had finished his water as well. Hum.
The bottle of wine came and that slacked me thirst, and the water boy refreshed our water glasses near about the same time. Later while awaiting dessert, I thought I'd have a sip of water only to find once again, I had nothing but melting ice cubes. Now I know I had a bit too much of the drink, but not that much I was losing it. The glass was no trick glass, so I decided me host was drinking me water covertly. So, upon refills, I made a note to watch him. Sure enough he finished his own. We were at the end of dessert talking away, when suddenly his hand inched onto the table as if he were playing with the edge of his plate, and then inched forward to the edge of me water goblet, his fingers tapping the glass bottom.
I was distracted for a few minutes when the Maitre' d came by to ask if everything was satisfactory. When I looked back me water was gone! What kind of man orders extravagant wines, liqueurs and food, then drinks someone else's water?
I decided to not say a word, instead sip me coffee and let dinner and me interview wind down, when suddenly me host's head snapped up in the air. His brow began to furrow, his eyes blinked rapidly, and his nose wrinkled. He looked around and signaled our waiter Marcus who came to table in a flash.
"Marcus . . . " he began, "do you smell THAT?"
Marcus's nose went up in the air and he sniffed a few times and then his eyes began to cross. I got me nose out of me cup and turned me head to the side and took a whiff, yes there it was the distinct odour of Pee cat! I slowly placed me cup on its saucer and dabbed me mouth with me napkin, indicating I was finished. Only I realised if I got up and left, the Pee cat odour would disappear and they'd know it was yours truly that the mysterious foulness was coming from.
I had to agree with them that there was a strange odour about the table. Me host began looking under his napkin, under his dessert plate and Marcus lifted the tablecloth up and put his head down under the table. He came up in record time like a drowning man seeking air. His hand let go the cloth as he clamped it over his nostrils in a motion to keep anymore smell from assaulting further into his olfactory senses.
Thinking quickly, I offered that perhaps me host had stepped in something on the way in. Yeah, yeah, it was me way of diverting the true source to another, something me Mam also taught me. To me astonishment, he mumbled something about a woman with a poodle walking passed as he exited his limo.
"Well, begorrah me," I laughed, "THAT has to be it then."
Marcus brought the check in record time and me host signed for it (much to me relief), and off he went apologising to everyone within smell distance. I sat there enjoying the rest of me coffee so as not to attract attention. When I finished, I casually got up and exited as well. I did stride out quicker than how I strode in. Once outside I took a deep breath of city air and was about to hale a cab when I decided it be best to walk home. Maybe the smell would dissipate, but it did not.
Here I had sent me shoes to be resoled but let's face it, the cat urine was well into the leather and nothing, and I mean nothing, would get out the smell once me feet were inside heating the leather up.
As soon as I got home, I noticed the trash bins on the street waiting to be emptied for the morning. Before I went up the steep stairs to the Kremlin, I took me expensive Italian leathers off, stripped off me silk socks (yeah I had splurged), and into the trash bin they went. Tears almost rolled down me face at the thought of me expensive shoes sitting on top of a pile of trash. I had spent near $70.00 on new soles. Barefoot, I climbed the steps with sagging shoulders, a dejected air about me whole body, and entered in the dark Kremlin.
Before I even brushed me teeth, or did anything else, I stripped off me trousers, and stuck me feet in the tub. I soaked the smell out of them with Nadia's Lavender Bath Soak. Sigh. The only expensive things I owned, gone forever. I realised that even from afar I be still dealing with that damn bloody cat!
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
The powers that be gave me an assignment that sounded like a sweet deal. I jumped on it because I was going to interview a leading San Francisco tycoon and get a free gourmet dinner in the process. Rubbing me hands together in me mind, I made me connections with the tycoon's personal assistant, and off I went to a well-known epicurean establishment in the financial district.
There I was suited up in me best bib and tucker striding into dim gold lighting, where waiters dressed in tuxedo trousers, pressed white shirts with tux ties, black gleaming shoes (the very picture of upper class service), were bustling about with platters full of gourmet delights. I inhaled to make sure me pee cat Italian shoes were not giving meself away and stepped up to the Maitre' d waiting behind the ornate cherry wood podium. He was a haughty one he was, eyeing me down his rather long proboscis. I noticed the epaulettes on his jacket and instantly knew I was being sized up big time because this guy was major league in the Maitre' d business.
I put me best Irish on and announced me glorious name and as I got that far, the man squinted his eyes together as if to say, do you really think with that name you'll be seated in THIS establishment, hum, do you? I hurried on to tell him the name of the man I was meeting and oh R. Linda, how his expression changed. At first it was disbelief, but once he gained his composure (which was Maitre' d professional) within seconds, he busied himself with the reservation list. He flicked the given name off with a gold tipped fountain pen, picked up two Moroccan red leather menus with gold tassels attached, and with a "Right this way, Mr. O' Sullivan," (Said with a French accent), we took off into the inner sanctum of expensive dinning.
There I was seated at a fine mahogany table, dressed in bright white linen, sparkling crystal of which there were five stemmed glasses arranged just so, and the finest gold edged china laid before me. I notice the silverware wasn't silver, it was gold! Begorrah me R. Linda, never in me born days have I seen gold forks and spoons. I was bloody impressed, but I wasn't able to spend too much time on impressed, because Frenchie handed me the wine list, introduced Jean Paul (the wine captain), and handed him the menu to hand to me. I guess I had cooties.
So there I be awaiting me tycoon interview, Jean Paul suggesting a bottle of Lalande 1982, at $332.00 a bottle. I asked him if he could give me a moment, as I was awaiting Mr. Gotrocks (that isn't his name, but should be), and I thought he and I should discuss choices then. I got a "very good, sir," and off he bustled. I didn't need the moment to think of wine, I needed the moment to get the pitter-patter of me wine priced heart calmed back down.
A water boy came and poured ice water in the glasses as I was beginning to sweat. $332.00 for a bottle of wine, how much was dinner? Me expense account didn't allow for extravagant meals, so I took a look at the menu. no prices whatsoever and that spelled trouble. Appetisers began with a Grilled Mahi-Mahi, Beluga Caviar served with Creme Fraiche on Garlic Toast, Oysters Rockefeller, Roast Lobster Risotto with Saffron Vinaigrette, Stuffed Portobello Mushrooms in a Champagne Sauce, Escargot on a bed of Spiced Red Cabbage. OH MY. The soups were Chilled Strawberry, Parsnip and Rosemary, French Onion (naturally), Cream of Asparagus with Dill. For dinner Gresingham Duck and Foie Gras Terrine with Confit of Sour Cherries, Roasted Saddle of Venison served with Whipped Sweet Potato Ribbons, Juniper Scented Game on Sage and Onion Mash, served with Sauteed Leeks and Rack of Lamb. For dessert, Champagne Sorbet, Warm Raspberry Souffle', Sticky Ginger Pudding with Cardamon Scented Custard, Iced Cranachan Parfait with Mull Whiskey and Shortbread (on the menu for me host -- how much clout is that?), Baked Vanilla Cheesecake with Strawberries and Vanilla Ice, Liquid Centre Chocolate and Banana Bread Pudding with Caramel Ice Cream and Bitter Chocolate Sauce. Meanwhile, the bread and rolls had arrived, warm and inviting accompanied by black truffle butter.
I never heard of most of these dishes in me life. As I pondered, me host showed up with the Maitre' d in attendance. he was a ruddy faced man, Scottish by birth, worth millions on investing in real estate in the USA. He thrust out a meaty hand, introduced himself as Maitre' d held his chair so he could sit. I had stood up upon greeting (me mam taught me some manners), holding me tie back in one hand, shaking the offered hand with the other. Jean Paul was instantly there as Maitre' d left. The wine list appeared once again and this time me host took charge. "Gabriel, I have a hankering for cognac, let's dispense with the wine and just enjoy the spirits."
I thought Jean Paul would have a heart attack at this, but when me host ordered a bottle (yes a bottle) of Remy Martin Louis XII, Jean Paul looked smuggly satisfied. He presented the decanter (which me host got to keep) which is Baccarat crystal, a very expensive high end crystal. I later found out what we were drinking was over $1200 a bottle. Had I known I'd have been struck dead with the thought. However, I did suspect by the container the liqueur came in, it was expensive. I be not one for cognac, but this was warmed at our table by Jean Paul and poured into brandy sniffers that were handed to us wrapped in a warm towelette. Me host put the towelette down, held up his glass to me, and said, "Cheers," to which we both took a sip.
The amber liquid flowed down me throat like a silk stocking sliding down a smooth leg. I must say, I was impressed beyond all reason. THIS, was the good stuff all right. We got the amenities out of the way and picked up the menus. I was not knowing what to do, and since me host was a regular at this fine establishment, I had him order for me.
I won't bore you with details, but everything was a feast. We ended the dinner on the note we started it, with more cognac. Me brain was swimming since everything I ate was cooked in some kind of alcohol. It wasn't until near the middle of the main course, I did notice something strange. Me host had ordered us up a bottle of Chateau Margaux 1995 (later the bill said it cost $405.00 a bottle -- we had two), and as we had finished the first and were awaiting the second, I had a powerful thirst. I looked to me right and me water glass was filled with melting ice cubes. Now R. Linda, I knew when I sat down it was filled with water and ice. I hadn't had a sip. I noticed me host had finished his water as well. Hum.
The bottle of wine came and that slacked me thirst, and the water boy refreshed our water glasses near about the same time. Later while awaiting dessert, I thought I'd have a sip of water only to find once again, I had nothing but melting ice cubes. Now I know I had a bit too much of the drink, but not that much I was losing it. The glass was no trick glass, so I decided me host was drinking me water covertly. So, upon refills, I made a note to watch him. Sure enough he finished his own. We were at the end of dessert talking away, when suddenly his hand inched onto the table as if he were playing with the edge of his plate, and then inched forward to the edge of me water goblet, his fingers tapping the glass bottom.
I was distracted for a few minutes when the Maitre' d came by to ask if everything was satisfactory. When I looked back me water was gone! What kind of man orders extravagant wines, liqueurs and food, then drinks someone else's water?
I decided to not say a word, instead sip me coffee and let dinner and me interview wind down, when suddenly me host's head snapped up in the air. His brow began to furrow, his eyes blinked rapidly, and his nose wrinkled. He looked around and signaled our waiter Marcus who came to table in a flash.
"Marcus . . . " he began, "do you smell THAT?"
Marcus's nose went up in the air and he sniffed a few times and then his eyes began to cross. I got me nose out of me cup and turned me head to the side and took a whiff, yes there it was the distinct odour of Pee cat! I slowly placed me cup on its saucer and dabbed me mouth with me napkin, indicating I was finished. Only I realised if I got up and left, the Pee cat odour would disappear and they'd know it was yours truly that the mysterious foulness was coming from.
I had to agree with them that there was a strange odour about the table. Me host began looking under his napkin, under his dessert plate and Marcus lifted the tablecloth up and put his head down under the table. He came up in record time like a drowning man seeking air. His hand let go the cloth as he clamped it over his nostrils in a motion to keep anymore smell from assaulting further into his olfactory senses.
Thinking quickly, I offered that perhaps me host had stepped in something on the way in. Yeah, yeah, it was me way of diverting the true source to another, something me Mam also taught me. To me astonishment, he mumbled something about a woman with a poodle walking passed as he exited his limo.
"Well, begorrah me," I laughed, "THAT has to be it then."
Marcus brought the check in record time and me host signed for it (much to me relief), and off he went apologising to everyone within smell distance. I sat there enjoying the rest of me coffee so as not to attract attention. When I finished, I casually got up and exited as well. I did stride out quicker than how I strode in. Once outside I took a deep breath of city air and was about to hale a cab when I decided it be best to walk home. Maybe the smell would dissipate, but it did not.
Here I had sent me shoes to be resoled but let's face it, the cat urine was well into the leather and nothing, and I mean nothing, would get out the smell once me feet were inside heating the leather up.
As soon as I got home, I noticed the trash bins on the street waiting to be emptied for the morning. Before I went up the steep stairs to the Kremlin, I took me expensive Italian leathers off, stripped off me silk socks (yeah I had splurged), and into the trash bin they went. Tears almost rolled down me face at the thought of me expensive shoes sitting on top of a pile of trash. I had spent near $70.00 on new soles. Barefoot, I climbed the steps with sagging shoulders, a dejected air about me whole body, and entered in the dark Kremlin.
Before I even brushed me teeth, or did anything else, I stripped off me trousers, and stuck me feet in the tub. I soaked the smell out of them with Nadia's Lavender Bath Soak. Sigh. The only expensive things I owned, gone forever. I realised that even from afar I be still dealing with that damn bloody cat!
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
