May. 17th, 2003 06:18 pm
Indulgence run rampant
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muckefuckI must've gained ten pounds in the last twenty-four hours--and it ain't over yet.
Last night, I met with two work buddies at Ethiopian Diamond. It was Lakshmi's first taste of the cuisine and she loved it. My other co-worker's husband joined us; turns out he used to work for an Oromo immigrant at an Ethiopian place in Wisconsin. I will have to give up on the lamb though--once again, too tough. Everything else was good, though, and--thanks to Lakshmi's vegetarianism--I tried a yummy lentil salad that I had been overlooking all this time.
But what Lakshmi really had her heart set on was ice cream. I had planned an outing to Deluxe Diner, which was not terribly far away, but our other pal (alias Penyunyum) suggested a trip to Margie's instead. Since her husband had a car around the corner, I readily agreed. Still, it was probably ten p.m. before I got my banana split, so all them heady calories were merrily converted into adipose tissue as I slept. Both Lakshmi and Penyenyum complained about the crampedness of the place and asked why they didn't enlarge it. I responded that the place had been in business for 82 years without expanding so, presumably, they didn't need to. Then I launched into an extended analogy between their desire to make over the place with the common female tendancy to see mates as fixer-upper opportunities, which, predictably, riled them into a spirited debate. Wee!
The next morning, I was supposed to whip my cramped space into shape. I needed a good breakfast first, though, and since the painters next door had awakened me at 8, I figured I had a chance at getting a seat at Toast. Ever since Movie Man took me there for the French Toast Orgy after my endoscopy, I've been longing for a revisit. But that was a weekday; I've always been certain the place is megamobbed on weekends. I got there at nine and got a seat at the bar in about ten-fifteen minutes; as I sat there, I heard the estimated wait time extend from half-an-hour, to forty-five minutes, to an hour.
As for the FTO, it was all that and a side of bacon. Truly the most heavenly french toast creation in this hemisphere. The flat-stomached, all-over-tanned, boob-tube-wearing momma behind the bar was a hoot. At one point, a scruffy guy came in and was greeted like a long-lost friend. He sat down and began updating his journal. When she had a minute to answer the question, "What's new with you?" she told how her mother had been diagnosed with cancer last fall and had "died in my arms. Three weeks later, a cat I've had for seventeen years had to be put to sleep." Then she grabbed her prominent bosoms and proclaimed, "And these are new!" He chuckled and said, "How are those workin' out for you?" "I love them!" And they started talking about when exactly she underwent surgery.
As a result, though, I had precious little time to get anything done before meeting Monshu at Mei Shung for lunch. (Later, I hope to tell you all about the stunning lawn art nearby.) I was too stuffed to really eat but, by reflex, I ordered a seafood dish anyway when I could just as well have shared Monshu's pork (which tasted better anyway). Oh, well; I'll have it for dinner--along with the Calo's pizza he just ordered.
Last night, I met with two work buddies at Ethiopian Diamond. It was Lakshmi's first taste of the cuisine and she loved it. My other co-worker's husband joined us; turns out he used to work for an Oromo immigrant at an Ethiopian place in Wisconsin. I will have to give up on the lamb though--once again, too tough. Everything else was good, though, and--thanks to Lakshmi's vegetarianism--I tried a yummy lentil salad that I had been overlooking all this time.
But what Lakshmi really had her heart set on was ice cream. I had planned an outing to Deluxe Diner, which was not terribly far away, but our other pal (alias Penyunyum) suggested a trip to Margie's instead. Since her husband had a car around the corner, I readily agreed. Still, it was probably ten p.m. before I got my banana split, so all them heady calories were merrily converted into adipose tissue as I slept. Both Lakshmi and Penyenyum complained about the crampedness of the place and asked why they didn't enlarge it. I responded that the place had been in business for 82 years without expanding so, presumably, they didn't need to. Then I launched into an extended analogy between their desire to make over the place with the common female tendancy to see mates as fixer-upper opportunities, which, predictably, riled them into a spirited debate. Wee!
The next morning, I was supposed to whip my cramped space into shape. I needed a good breakfast first, though, and since the painters next door had awakened me at 8, I figured I had a chance at getting a seat at Toast. Ever since Movie Man took me there for the French Toast Orgy after my endoscopy, I've been longing for a revisit. But that was a weekday; I've always been certain the place is megamobbed on weekends. I got there at nine and got a seat at the bar in about ten-fifteen minutes; as I sat there, I heard the estimated wait time extend from half-an-hour, to forty-five minutes, to an hour.
As for the FTO, it was all that and a side of bacon. Truly the most heavenly french toast creation in this hemisphere. The flat-stomached, all-over-tanned, boob-tube-wearing momma behind the bar was a hoot. At one point, a scruffy guy came in and was greeted like a long-lost friend. He sat down and began updating his journal. When she had a minute to answer the question, "What's new with you?" she told how her mother had been diagnosed with cancer last fall and had "died in my arms. Three weeks later, a cat I've had for seventeen years had to be put to sleep." Then she grabbed her prominent bosoms and proclaimed, "And these are new!" He chuckled and said, "How are those workin' out for you?" "I love them!" And they started talking about when exactly she underwent surgery.
As a result, though, I had precious little time to get anything done before meeting Monshu at Mei Shung for lunch. (Later, I hope to tell you all about the stunning lawn art nearby.) I was too stuffed to really eat but, by reflex, I ordered a seafood dish anyway when I could just as well have shared Monshu's pork (which tasted better anyway). Oh, well; I'll have it for dinner--along with the Calo's pizza he just ordered.
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French Toast Orgy? For some reason, I started thinking of the cereal line. "But can HE see why kids like Cinnamon Toast Crunch?" ::humphumphumphump::
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