Sad eggs. Totally accidental, totally sad.

I’m going to use that as a phrase to describe all pitiful things, now.

“I lost my wallet last night.”
“Dang, sad eggs dude.”

I went out last night, Saturday, and had a good time. We did a very typical New York thing: drinks at one place, reserved dinner at another place, “Where should we go next? OH, I know a great wine bar nearby, let’s go there” kind of evening.

I’m glad I showered first.

So, trallomp, tralloo. It was a good group– a music producer, a hedge fund manger (the only good one I know, fwiw), two stage actresses–one super hot–and two women who are on contract at the UN, one French, one…not. The hedge fund guy’s wife joined after dinner and it was great to catch up.

The restaurant was good and I recommend it. It’s called Crema. The style is “Nuevo Latino”, but all the reviews just call it “gourmet Mexican”. The chef is named Julieta Ballestero and I guess she’s well known. Here’s a write up about what she’s trying to do with Crema, and her picture. If you’ve never had gourmet Mexican, try it out, it’s definitely interesting.

The food was good, but the portions… meh. There was some filet mignon, and some raw tuna and ostrich meat which was good, and other things. It was all held together by good sauces.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was the obligatory big, mostly empty dish. I think that’s a requirement at any place wanting to be considered “gourmet”. I guess I was waiting for it after the first few courses, which were like, a few bites each.

I mean, it was good.

See that clump of white on the left side? Looks like mashed potatoes? Yeah, that’s not mashed potatoes. Not at all. It was a shocker. Any time you bite down and you’re expecting potatoes and it turns out to be anything else, you have a moment of deep confusion.

OK, any guesses?

Frozen, pureed apple/lemon mixture.

Yeah, it was weird. That’s raw tuna on the right. I assumed you don’t eat the flower on the plate.

It was all pretty good, but… hundred bucks. That will never be worth it to me no matter how wealthy I am or become. I’d say maximum a couple times per year and only for really special occasions.

From there we went to a wine bar. I’m not a big wine fan and I find the “connoisseurs” to be entertaining embarrassments to themselves. Harsh? Yes, I know. I’ve just lost half of you and the other half are rolling your eyes. BUT, it’s true. It’s a bullshit industry. Firstly, you know this on intuition after tasting as many wines as you have, but you’re influenced by groups that want you to literally buy into it. Secondly, it’s proven. So relax, there’s no argument to be had. Yes, it’s all been debunked many times now: even wine tasting experts can’t tell $12 bottles from $80 half the time. Don’t bother challenging me on this one, save your time. Its extremely well studied. This is probably the best explanation.

“In blind taste tests, long-time smokers can’t tell their brand from any of the competitors and wine connoisseurs have a hard time telling $200 bottles from $20 ones. When presented microwaved food from the frozen food section in the setting of a fine restaurant, most people never notice. Taste is subjective, which is another way of saying you are not so smart when it comes to choosing one product over another. All things equal, you refer back to the advertising or the packaging or conformity with your friends and family. Presentation is everything.

Restaurants depend on this.” Source.

The thing about wine in particular is that the industry itself knows it’s full of shit and they depend so strongly on dumb sheepish people to make their BS fortunes.  Here’s an actual research paper from the The Journal of Wine Economics describing it, and here’s the abstract from it:

“Individuals who are unaware of the price do not derive more enjoyment from more expensive wine. In a sample of more than 6,000 blind tastings, we find that the correlation between price and overall rating is small and negative, suggesting that individuals on average enjoy more expensive wines slightly less.” (Source.)

 

OK. Stopping. Now. Not that big a deal, Duck. Just move along.

So we go to this wine bar and…

I had a great time. The wine was really easy to drink. I’m not a drinker generally, though when I get in the right mood I can drink a couple bottles as if they were gatorade. In the past year that’s happened maybe twice– where I swill directly from the wine bottle and finish entire bottles within minutes.

I know that’s not a good way of preventing myself from exploding into a ball of molten lava ore.

But, for various reasons, it was satisfying.

After the first bar, then tequila martinis at Crema, and all the bottles of wine at the wine bar, we were all quite buzzed. It was fine. The actresses were fun to talk to though they were super flirty and obnoxious. The hot one, half Indian, was starting to cause me great inner pain by constantly grabbing my arm and touching my back. I used my old line:

“Hey this shit’s expensive, don’t touch unless you buy.”

She loved it and watching the game in progress made me sigh internally, constantly.

No, I’m not going to play. Yes I’m sure taking you home would be hot, yes you’re very fine. No I’m not going to do it.

Great and now you think I’m hiding something, either a secret wife, or a little dick.

The sighs continued until…

… they came.

Who? Why, you already know. The “let’s get laid” douchey fucktards who seem to always show up eventually in this town. The fact that some chicks (though probably a very… particular variety of chicks) even give them the time of day is one of those mysteries I’ll never understand. Anyway, when it happened was when I needed to take my exit to preserve a fun night by ending it.

It was dark and I didn’t want to use flash, of course, so it’s grainy and iPhoney.

But it was quite something. What happened was, at about the same time, or least within the same hour, we were suddenly surrounded by these guys all dressed almost exactly the same in stripy patterned collar shirts, untucked, top bottons undone, fitted jeans and queer little pussy bootie shoes, each guy carrying the same facial expressions and using the same voice and talking about the same things, all for the sake of the… you know.

Now, I’m not a go out to bars in big groups type, it’s just not my thing. I prefer metal shows or if I’m going out with a chick, just us is great. If I’m hanging out with people I haven’t seen in a while, I like it, but that’s like a few times a year at most. But the people I was with last night, the actresses and whatnot, well, this is their thing. They’re out all the time, at least every weekend. I talked about it with them all at length and it was informative. But most interesting was their reaction to the douchey fucktards that had infiltrated the wine bar: once I pointed them out, they were surprised. “Holy shit, they really do all look the same… they’re actually all wearing the same things and holding their heads in the same ways, even holding their drinks in the same ways. WEIRD. And their demeanors are so… gross!”

So it was good because at least I confirmed I wasn’t crazy,  but bad because… how the hell could they not have noticed this EVERY OTHER TIME THEY GO OUT. Guys are dumb, but girls can be, really, supremely naive and dumb.

Hopefully shedding light on a piece of overlooked reality wasn’t too disruptive to their evening plans… which is what I was thinking as I made my solo exit despite being given shit for leaving early. “I gotta go, I’ll see you guys soon. Try to count how many douchey fucktards you see tonight and we’ll make a graph.” The half-Indian actress chick followed me out and gave me her number and I didn’t give her mine and she thought that was shitty but I could tell she liked it.

My negativity turned out to not harm me much, which isn’t always the case.  She’s cool and all, I’m just into my dark state these days and don’t want to meet new people. There’s one person I’m hoping will give herself to me a few times before The Big Change, and I’m strongly against seeing more than one person at the same time, so we’ll see how much this comes back to hurt me if I don’t get her after all.

Happy Monday. I’m away all day long and won’t be home until 10p or so, all work that I’m happily involved with. All part of The Story that’s coming your way soon.

Thanks for checkin’ me out, as always.