People are funny, and my proof is in a two-hundred-dollar per plate jaunt.
Last time I ate out was at Keaton's BBQ joint out in the sticks. I do mean out in the sticks. I don't mean on the edge of town. I mean out in between cow pastures.
This week I broke out the good clothes and the pearl necklace and hit the country club.
When seat costs a bundle, drinks are free. If you don't belly up to get one, someone comes by bearing trays of red or white.
You'll get loads of appetizers. I do not know how those country club regulars manage to stay anorexic. You turn around, and someone is holding a plate full of something yummy. They will tell you all about the something special.
Details are paramount when it comes to food for the rich and famous. Your salad is not a salad. It is: "Baby Arugula Salad Served wtih Ruby Port Poached Pears, Chever Cheese Crumbles and Candied Pecans and Port Vinaigrette Dressing." In other words, you have green stuff with a sliced pear on the side and some cheese, nuts and dressing.
They'll call your surf and turf things like "Filet of Beef with Cabernet Reduction" and "Sea Bass Fillet with Lemon Butter." You've got a better class of moo and splash but portions are petite.
I imagine those stuck serving and having to remember the names probably get a kick out of watching everyone try to eat coconut battered shrimp dipped in sauce while holding the wine offered earlier without getting special sauce all over "going out on the town" clothes. And, I'm sure they must giggle a bit "backstage" about the various ways the chocoholics in the crowd attempt to dismantle the chocolate dessert cup filled with mousse and fresh raspberries.
Yes. Good eating. Loved it. I still think the Keaton's chicken in the paper sack takes the cake.
