It was Friday evening and Salty D. was laying on the couch watching a CSI rerun waiting for me to come home and cook dinner. Well, that wasn't gonna happen, so we made a spontaneous decision to go to a new steakhouse in the area. We called and said we'd be there in 20 minutes.
Pomegranate martini sloshing around in waving hand, I made an attempt to be adventurous, and ordered the raw oyster appetizer for us to share.
"Ew. I don't like raw oysters." D. said.
"What? We've eaten oysters before, come on!" I replied.
"Those were poached. I don't know if I can eat more than one or two raw oysters."
That's OK, I said, I'll eat four oysters, you'll eat two. I remembered the really good, shucked-before-your-eyes oysters I ate in Georgia with hot sauce.
At this place, you have two waiters, a primary who does most of the talking and an assistant. Plus the clearing people and the roving manager. So there are a lot of people watching you eat and checking in and asking the appropriate scripted questions, and shining a little flashlight on the cow meat so you can see for sure if it has the right amount of cooked-ness.
We were naturally seated next to the kitchen, which happens more often than not, so it's become a joke between us. But the kitchen vapors that were hanging around our table were a steamy mix of old meat and dishwashing cleanser. Barfy.
Back to the oysters. Six briney Cape Cod oysters showed up with some vodka dipping sauce. They were all "normal" slurpy-shot sized except for one of them which was supersized oyster on steroids. D. immediately said he wasn't gonna touch that one. I said, come on, we're going to New Orleans in a few months, don't you want to get psyched for oysters? He was like, yeah, FRIED oysters, hello!
I got to Gigantor oyster last. It was the size of my foot. How the hell was I gonna eat this thing? I poured as much vodka sauce as I could on Gigantor and decided I would just throw it back like a big shot. I tried that. But half of Gigantor was sliding down my esophogus and half was still in my mouth. Uh-oh. I turned my head and tried to choke it down, but Gigantor wasn't goin' without a fight. I tried to chew it. That was a mistake. I started really gagging and turned my head away, as delicately as possible, with my napkin poised to catch Gigantor if it flew out.
I heard D. laughing as I was convulsing with disgust. Finally, with tears rolling out of my eyes, I turned back to the table, having vanquished Gigantor. Waitress #2 had been standing next to D., at the ready, waiting to take the plate away, watching me heave. And D. was laughing his ass off. NICE. I had been trying to avoid a totally embarassing moment and that didn't play out at all.
"How were your oysters?" she asked. What a ridiculous question, since you just witnessed me struggling with Gigantor.
So I gave a ridiculous answer. "GREAT. I REALLY ENJOYED them, especially the giant one." I said, wiping the tears away and trying to compose myself. I'm sure she stored that little gem in her Book of Funny Customer Stories. I would have, anyway.
"That was not very aphrodisiac," D. said.
I am laughing so hard, I'm almost crying. Sorry to laugh at your misery, but thank you for the entertainment!
Posted by: Sheesh | 02 August 2008 at 09:42 PM