The Transporter Couch

Aretha ATE one of the fish. She’s been fooling around the pond all day. There are only three little goldfish left. I gave away all the rest because I plan to drain it and turn it into a big planter, and I’ve had a landscaper come out and everything. But I couldn’t catch the other three. They’re just goldfish, about three inches long. Well, she yowled at the door a minute ago and I opened it fully expecting her to zoom in and go to her dish but instead she just sort of looked at me with that same look she has when I have in the past busted her on the kitchen counter. And she walked back and forth in the doorway and wouldn’t come in, so I reached down for her and she slipped off. So I said to hell with it and came back inside. Then she yowled again and I opened the door and she had this same look on her face but THIS time she was licking her chops the way animals do when they’re cleaning up after a meal. It dawned on me, she had eaten one of the fish.

So I ran down to the courtyard and watched carefully for five long minutes, and only saw two. Yep. She ate one.

I don’t really care. I just don’t want to let her in the house now because that was a pretty big meal and what if she throws up. On the carpet, of course.

I have NEVER seen a mouse in this place but about a week after I brought her into my life I caught her just ….. messing with something and I investigated and she had eviscerated this little tiny mouse. I took it away from her for exactly the same reason I just cited and I think she never forgave me for that. Also, there used to be these two rather ugly brown frogs that hung out on the edge of the pond and one morning I opened the door and lying there, like the daily paper, were BOTH the frogs. Quite dead. At least she didn’t eat them.

My own dinner was … just … not what I wanted. You know how you get about four bites into the meal, and it’s all familiar food, but you say to yourself, this is NOT what I want. So I chucked it and had half a pineapple. THAT was satisfying.

I’ve managed to endear myself with the folks at Cuvee. (Hmm, endear with? endear to? whatever) I mean, we all are friends now and so I was lucky to get invited to a party last night at the proprietor’s house.

Now I have to set this up properly. Carolyn Walls died. God rest her soul. (And I understand it was a hard hard death.) And I got that news exactly three minutes after I accepted the invitation to come over Monday night for fajitas. And in the ensuing fray of my weekend I FORGOT the party invitation. Carolyn was not really a friend but she was my friend Carla’s sister and out of respect and deference I went to the viewing yesterday afternoon. And there, I ran into Hilda. And Hilda, who is one of the most beautiful women in the world, is quite shy, and she sort of clung to me. So after we left the funeral home we went DIRECTLY across the street to Lincoln Street and consumed Moscato d’Asti. Quite a bit of it. And then Hilda said, “aren’t you going to a party tonight?” And I thought, “SHIT! Yes I’m supposed to go to a party!

Well two glasses of Moscato d’Asti do not make Brian drunk, but I was certainly lit up. Hilda and I left the funeral home at about 5 and then went to have a drink and we sat in the “front living room” at Lincoln Street, which was once upon a time a house. Lincoln Street is, first and foremost, comfortable. We sat in the front living room and I closed the doors so it was quiet and we both had a little cry and then we talked about many things and Shawn came in and refreshed our glasses and shut the door behind him, and then we laughed about stuff and it was the perfect counterpoint to viewing a dead friend. So I was actually in a pretty good mood.

And then I went to Len’s house, and driving there I got lost…. .LOST in a podunk town! But I found my way, and suddenly it was a party.

Present were: Sheila and her boyfriend Terry, Jen and her boyfriend Matt, Julie and Lance (married), Sherry, Len, and myself. We were the singles threesome. Len’s wife and daughter are out of town so he was only tangentially single.

At some point I was talking sort of across the room to Terry about driving fast cars. It was a GUY moment and I was enjoying it, but busy doing that I missed some larger conversation about “juicy tits.” That became a recurring theme of the overall conversation last night.

There was lots of food! AND… AND!!! I drank about 483 margaritas. I think that was where I was ultimately going with this post. I feel like shit. I haven’t even summoned the courage to look at myself in the mirror. I’ve walked past one eleven times and just don’t look. I know WHERE my car is but more important than where it IS is where it IS NOT, which is….. here. And I have to go to a funeral in 2.5 hours and it’s raining and I feel like shit and loook like shit and don’t really want to go. Maybe I should blow it off. Maybe I should send an elaborate wreath and a condolence card. Maybe I should muster the troops and put myself together. Maybe I should have breakfast …… .no….. well maybe some watermelon.

The party last night was sort of a double party. Sherry is going to Australia for a month and leaves in about a week. So it was a bon voyage party for her. And I turned 40 in December and ….. well that being the holiday season and all those folks being busy, no one took notice of it. So it was sort of a birthday party for me. It was sweet. It was nice. It was alcoholic. We ran out of lime juice so Jen and Sheila went to the store to get some and came back with this helium birthday balloon (that if you touch in the right place makes noise, not unlike some people I know) and some watermelon, which I had been craving. That was extra sweet of them, no pun intended! But I haven’t dived into the watermelon yet. Nice watermelon, all cut up and seedless and in a little container!

The balloon is sort of creepy. It reminds me of Terrence Stamp. It’s pretty big …. biscuit shaped, about 18 inches in diameter and 6 inches thick, metallic, helium-filled (it’s on the ceiling now) and metallic in color. It says “BLOWS YOUR MIND! ANOTHER BIRTHDAY!” and depicts a blue face wearing weird glasses with confetti exploding out of his brain. And did I mention it sings?

My complete and total incapacity to focus this post is sort of annoying, to me at least. The wages of sin …. as they say… is death. I’ve never understood that subject/verb disagreement though it was at some point explained to me. Anyway, all it indicates is that I’m hung over, and pretty majorly.

Have a nice day

Oy! Once again…… good food, tooo much wine. Cuvee. Thanks Len!

Peter, thank you for being a great guy and a great boss! You make work a joy, not a toil, and you surprise us with pizza! Thank you! For future reference, I don’t really care for bell peppers, and I prefer the hand-tossed crust.

Brian

I bought a fresh foie gras, which, for the uninitiated, is a very fat liver…. wait, why did I buy one when I have one of my own? But I digress. A very fat liver, traditionally that of a goose forcefed with corn (generally, but the Romans back in the day forcefed them figs) but in the US there seems to be a law about gooselivers so they render it from ducks. I don’t know the particulars of force-feeding but I know it annoys some animal rights activists, and perhaps it should, but I like eating it and most all other meats, and they are after all just ducks. Anyway, I have great connections in the restaurant industry so I got this rather monstrous (2 lb.) duck foie gras for a trifling $75. And now I’m stumped.

The thing is, it’s fresh, and though cryo-vacced it won’t last forever (but, since cryo-vacced, it can be safely frozen). I don’t know what to do with it. There’s enough there to feed 8 people quite nicely as an appetizer, but that means I have to have a dinner party and if I do that then I have to spend another $300 on more food and wine, and I don’t feel like doing that. So maybe a little cocktail thingy. Close friends. But then I have to clean the house and the cleaning lady doesn’t come until not the day after tomorrow Monday but the one after that, so I would have to do it myself and there are things I just don’t do, like mop. (And iron. I don’t iron.)

Plus, the recipes are endless! Personally, I like foie gras sliced about a half inch thick and seared very hot on both sides, served basically like that but maybe with a drop of a sweetened balsamic reduction. Thus prepared it is like heaven in the mouth. You take a bite and chew ever so gently, for it doesn’t require *chewing* any more than ice cream does. So you chew ever so gently and the seared part lends a crisp texture while that part which is contained by the sear just evaporates into this perfumey fat, and it all goes down in a heartbeat (which one hopes will not be his last, though that possibility lies in wait when one consumes pure fat). Thus rendered, three or four bites are enough. This two-pounder I have could supply tastes of heaven to my 8 guests, especially coupled with a Muscato or Sauternes. Or maybe a sparkling Rose. The Moscato d’Asti I had recently, with it’s rich peach reference and its soft sparkle, would be PERFECT.

But then there are terrines, mousses, salads, Napoleans, composed dishes, sauces, and of course let’s not forget Beef Wellington! Yum! And then there ARE ways of preparing it and saving it so it lasts and you can use it piecemeal, but that’s the work of a skilled chef and a pretty complicated kitchen.

Where is Julia Child when I need her? Oh, that’s right! She’s in heaven! And she LOVED foie gras!