Singing for My Supper July 16, 2008
Posted by indigobunting in Uncategorized.trackback
They have names like Vignola, Evangeline, Bresca. They beckon me with their perfectly presented plates, with their come-hither menus. Once again, I’m in Portland, and I have eaten some impossibly good food three nights straight.
Can I withstand this much pleasure in a 52-hour period? Turns out I can.
One night, upon taking in our surroundings, perhaps upon tasting the duck with mascarpone polenta, in a moment of fully feeling the utter bliss that had become us, Tim made the obvious Judeo-Christian pronouncement: “I am going to hell.”
It is questionable whether I can afford this habit. It is especially questionable in light of the home heating oil contract I just signed. So, during the days, I’ve been working frantically on a textbook in the hopes that I can at least offset what I’ve eaten here. It is perhaps fitting that it is a textbook about oral diseases.
At night, supper; during the day, singing for it.
But that’s it. No more high-end eating this week. There will be no Back Bay Grill, no Street and Company, no Fore Street. There will be no Katahdin or Local 188. This excess has got to stop.
Yet still another temptress beckons: Louise. Tonight she is hosting an intimate happy hour on her famous dorch (Is it a deck? Is it a porch?). She has cast out bait that looks suspiciously like a Hendrick’s cucumber martini. It looks like I may bite.
A special thanks to Sewa Yoleme, who urged me to get off my ever-widening ass and post something.
Route 153 
You’re welcome, but we’re the ones who owe you the thanks. Lovely stuff.
But please remember Oscar Wilde’s famous dictum from A Woman of No Importance: “Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess.”
….and self-indulgence every once in a while is what keeps life fun.
this all sounds so delicious.
You and Portland. And the bars and restaurants. No wonder your favourite word is “Yum.”
“home heating oil contract”: oy. I don’t envy you that…
Mascarpone polenta?: I know polenta just gets better the more dairy products you put in it, but whew!
Oscar Wilde was right, and then again nothing fails like excess either: as he found out. In Reading gaol there was no polenta. But I digress: enjoy.
Did you type this standing up?
Mrs S: I pretty much had to, didn’t I?
On Bastille Day, I happened to be in a French restaurant, and I had a bone marrow appetizer. I began thinking I should just order “a big bowl of fat” wherever I go.
B: For the first time, I didn’t opt in for the prebuy, but a cap program, whereby I give them hundreds of dollars as insurance money to extract a promise that the price will never be more than a bazillion dollars per gallon. It’s going to be an interesting winter.
It’s going to be quite interesting to arrive home to a completely empty refrigerator. Good for detox, though, I imagine. We head home tomorrow night.
I think a trip to Tonga would suit you, from what I’ve been told by a friend who just went there……
Bone marrow appetizer, you must have checked out the Grill Room (I think that is what it is called) where Natasha’s used to be. Hi – this is Bar Guy from Portland from back in Songs From the Field days.I have been reading you periodically (lurking sounds so ‘Uncle Ernie’)as I find your writing to be both wholsome and tasty. Glad you still enjoy our fair city I’m sure it digs you. Ben travelling alot lately and hope to bump into you at some odd point. would you recognize me? I’m pretty sure I would you. Thanks for the blog.
Lonerhino, how the hell are you? As you were posting this, I was out picking up an Austin’s Power Lunch at the Maine Squeeze. The bone marrow was a la Evangeline’s. I’ve walked by the Grill Room but haven’t tried it yet—I’m still rather in mourning over Natasha’s.
I often wonder if I’d recognize you or not. I think I would. But if I didn’t, and you managed to recognize me, I’d put it together soon enough.
Leaving tomorrow, but I’m planning/hoping to be back in early September.
Yo Indigo. Fingers crossed for Sept. Still haven’t hit Evangeline’s. This weekend I hope. My wife and i are finally in the same city for a week. Hope your August is august.
Smile from Mark
Mark-with-the-same-last-name-as-my-high-school-English-teacher: Isn’t it great to be in the same city as your spouse? That’s one of the perks of Portland for me. Tim and I hit Evangeline’s on Monday night, which is their no-reservations, fixed-price, fixed-menu night. I wanted to see what they’d come up with on their own. They utterly wowed me. I’d recommend trying next Monday night if this weekend doesn’t work out.
I’ll be wandering around the city tomorrow a bit as we are getting kicked out of the hotel and Tim will be working all day. May take in the O’Keeffe, depending. But I’ll keep my eyes open come September. And I’ll check your blog again soon, which has seemed long abandoned…
As I write this I have pains in my stomach–not from mascarpone polenta or even a cucumber martini (what is a cucumber martini?) but from sparkling water. Sparkling water, for crissakes! I know we’re not supposed to think of life as fair or unfair, but really . . . .
Susan: That is completely unfair, and quite an annoying thought for me, who uses sparkling water to feel BETTER.
The eating did catch up a bit with me here at the end of the week. Detox needs to begin.
The cucumber martini, in this case, was Hendrick’s gin with muddled cucumber (which brings out the natural cucumber flavors) and some lime juice.
It’s sad when you realise that there is such a thing as too much good food, and even to my horror once, too much champagne (http://atozoftravel.wordpress.com/2007/12/09/b-is-for-bedarra-2/)
I’m still stuck on the notion of cucumber martinis.
I generally prefer my alcohol without vegetables, but that’s interesting.
If Hell offers food and drink even close to the feasts you describe, I’m THERE!
At least I’ll have some friends with me…
Lynda: In college we used to say “At least we’ll have a decent volleyball team.”
Tim, though, meant he was experiencing such immediate heaven, such delights of the flesh, that surely he would be paying for it by going to hell. Where we assume we won’t get food like that.
But, as you imply, if we do, what a dinner party we’ll have…