She doesn’t do carbohydrates. She also chastises me on how much I drink. I’ll have you know that one glass of red wine a day, helps to prevent heart problems. She asked how many glasses I have per night, something like three on the nights that I do have wine; I just want a healthy heart. That’s all.
Though she doesn’t eat carbs, she encourages for me to do so. At least she did at Acadiana over broiled oysters with garlic parmesan on top, served with a small loaf of French bread. I drool. She kept shoving the bread in my face as I devoured the fried green tomatoes.
“You know you want some,” she taunted.
I gave a sideways glance and went back to the shrimp that covered my dish.
She kept shoving the bread in my face. I could smell aroma of the parmesan swirling in the garlic butter sauce.
I picked off a piece of bread and inhaled deeply. You know, the pre-puke deep inhale. But I wouldn’t. Not at a table, in public next to the buttermilk biscuits and cab sauvignon/syrah blend.
I exhaled, and reached over as she lifted the plate to me and dipped in. Who was I to resist such deliciousness.
Her eyes got wide as she smiled and exclaimed: “YEAAAAAAHHHHH. That’s it.”
The initial taste was amazing and then my blackened yellowfin tuna with sweet corn pudding arrived and halfway through, I lost all taste. My stomach had hardened and I could barely breathe as I excused myself quickly and practically flung myself into a cab on K Street.
Oh, but I am a champ. You didn’t think otherwise did you? I didn’t puke. I kept up my inhaling and made it inside to my apartment. There’s not puking (or crying) in Jeff Tunks dining. You buck up and take it like a man and thank your lucky stars for his brilliance: All the while silently cursing the force that is Peg and her encouragement to KEEP EATING.
In the end though, I realize that it was karma. Something I totally deserved – death by New Orleans cuisine - for suggesting that I would ever think to get her precious baby boy drunk on his 21st birthday. But she can’t break me and G need not worry, for I will be providing the Ketel One.
Labels: El Madre