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Saloon
Montreal, Quebec |
Curly’s Vegetarian Lunch
New York, NY |
Dish
Charlotte, NC |
Casimir
New York, NY |
Chai
Brooklyn, NY |
Peasant
New York, NY |
Pat’s King of Steaks
Philadelphia, PA |
The Abbey Food and Bar
West Hollywood, CA |
Bar 89
New York, NY |
Restaurant Globe
Montreal, Canada |
8 Minute Dating
New York, NY |
Hamburger Mary's
San Diego, CA |
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| Casimir |
103-105 Avenue B
New York, NY
212.358.9683 |
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 I knew the dame was trouble the moment I laid eyes on her, a tall drink of water, with a lotta great assets… like fer instance an insider's discount at the computer shop. I needed a new laptop, software upgrades, a few other articles. A man'll go far to get some things for cheap… even so far as to date a boatload of trouble with auburn hair and a killer's eyes. Let's call her Martine.
There're some things you don't want to tell a lady, especially one you've been dating for a couple weeks. In my case I failed to mention I don't normally date skirts… Teds and Franks are more my style. In fact I was seeing one at the time… a guy called Joe. Joe knew what I was doing, I figured another night out with her, a nice dinner in a classy joint, maybe a roll in the hay if that's what it took… hell, I'd get that insider's discount within a couple days and then I'd be a made man and Martine would be history. This was my third date with her, and I chose this intimate East Village dive to close this deal, win her over, score the goods.
We ducked in from the cold damp winter air, and were directed towards a window table by what passes for a maître d' in a semi-authentic downtown French bistro; didn't care much for the guy, and it wasn't just because of the attitude. Martine and I glanced at the menus in a dark somber atmosphere, amongst the wood and tile walls, the mirrors, and the funereal jazz… mighta been Chet Baker… then again might not.
She ordered the terrine de foie gras ($10), which the menu characterized as a homemade duck terrine with croutons and mesclun. It was a fine dish, one I normally prefer at room temperature, but here they served it ice cold… like her deceptive heart. Oh and by the way, I don't remember there being croutons either.
I started with the special hors d'oeuvre, in tonight's case wild mushrooms sautéed in wine and butter served on toast with goat cheese. The mushrooms were exquisite, a perfect balance of musky flavor and tart wine tones… good as my grandmother's.
 I thought some social lubricant would help us both out, to get her in the right mood, and to help me do what I had to do. So I ordered a bottle of Sancerre, Domaine des Buissonnes ($32). The rain beat against the glass and poured off the awnings as the waitress filled our glasses, then left us with our troubles, the bottle stewing in a pail of ice.
We exchanged words now and then, and I could tell something was up. Was she on to me? I had to find out. The entrées arrived. Pork chop grilled with Moroccan spice and sweet potato gratin ($16) for her, free range chicken roasted with mashed potatoes, fresh sage, and wild mushroom gravy ($16) for me. The mushrooms were sublime, again. And if they tasted familiar it's because they were the same mix served on my hors d'oeuvre. The chicken was a fine piece of bird, blanketed under a light brown sauce, subtle but good.
We finished up by splitting a small dessert, my play for a seductive moment. We had espresso served with pistachio ice cream ($4), the presentation of which was inexplicable. The espresso was served in a tiny espresso cup. The scoop of pistachio was perched on top of a shot glass. Far be it for me to ever complain about anything served in a shot glass, but this arrangement made the combining of the two components a complicated problem.
 We finished eating and I had to make a move soon, but the maitre d' beat me to it. He informed us unceremoniously that he needed the table for another group, and we had to finish our glasses in the lounge… I knew the guy was a snake, but wouldn't have pegged him for a phony. No real French maitre d' would ever ask a man to leave his table before finishing his wine… I didn't like it and told him so with a look.
It was sitting in the lounge that it happened. I picked out this place ‘cause I thought its dark elegance would play its seductive charms on her. I raised my glass, about to speak. Just then the music changed, gave way to the slow wail of a trumpet. Had to be Miles Davis.
I was about to ask her to come back to my pad, y'know. Good times. But she raised a finger and shot me an icy stare. Told me she knew what I was after and that it wouldn't work. Said I wasn't the first guy to try it either. If she was so clever, I shot back, then why were we still here? Maybe she wasn't as smart as she thought. Her response was a slap in my face… good thing she didn't take to heavy rings with fancy jewels. Maybe she did have the smarts, she said, and maybe there was more going on here than I knew. I didn't find out till later what she meant by that. She tossed what was left of her drink at me and stormed out.
I paid the check and made to leave. Couldn't help but notice she picked the right atmosphere for her little scene. For me I both liked the place and didn't. The food and atmosphere were alright, but the guy up front could learn a thing or two about diplomacy. Oh and I just got slapped by a broad I didn't even want to date. And it didn't end there. Turns out she went out with me the first couple times to get something too and she got it; last week in my apartment she took Joe's number, and then within a couple days she took him too.
Women. |
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| chumwater |
| February 19, 2005 |
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