"I'd get the skirt steak bathed in suffocated peaches, but I'm put off by the aspirin sauce." - David Sedaris, Me Talk Pretty One Day
I love oysters. I guess they make you sexy, or so I've heard. Point is, fresh bluepoints are perfect, and I feel pretty fancy when I eat them. I like the saltiness, I like the texture, however brief and slippery, and I don't even mind the minute bit of sand that you are sure to ingest (kind of like eating the beach). They are also in the dangerfood category and I like that, too.
I usually only eat them when I am drinking champagne and I think they are fucking delicious.
I read a review of a new restaurant the other day in Time Out New York,and it read, rather poetically I might add, "the oysters fill out their shells the way Jane Mansfield filled out a bustier."
Jane Mansfield was retardedly beautiful.
And by that I mean that she was stunning. Men probably made fools out of themselves in front of her on a regular basis. Unfortunately, all I can think of when I hear the name Jane Mansfield is that she was decapitated in a car accident. Decapitated!
And then oysters are the last thing on my mind. I can only think now about how there is an 8-second delay when the head is severed from the body. You can STILL SEE AND HEAR (and look at your own body, horrifyingly) for EIGHT seconds after your head's been sliced off.
Anyways, after reading this somewhat hilarious description of the edible oceanic pearls, I thought once again about the absurdity and seriousness to which some NewYorkers view dining. Last summer, I read about a restaurant with an asinine price point in Chelsea, where patrons went to the pier and CAUGHT THEIR OWN FISH and had the restaurant prepare it for them. This is in the Hudson, mind you, where the blue plate special is hypodermic needle soup! Every day o' the week!
While I tried to keep up with the auctioneerish verbal pace that my waiter adopted to zoom through the specials while eating out this weekend, I laughed to myself thinking of MY mock NY restaurant menu. This would include nothing simpler than my recipe for Filet mignon marinated in Childrens Tears, most likely served on a mattress of Maytag-washed spinach and assasinated beets (pureed, duh). Naturally, this would be polished off with a light dusting of crushed Adderrall. Something like that.
In closing, adventurousness in the kitchen IS fun but you gotta take it with a grain of salt, so to speak. And to quote Sedaris on the topic once more... "What I really want is a cigarette, and I'm always searching the menu in the hopes that some courageous young chef has recognized tobacco as a vegetable."
I love oysters. I guess they make you sexy, or so I've heard. Point is, fresh bluepoints are perfect, and I feel pretty fancy when I eat them. I like the saltiness, I like the texture, however brief and slippery, and I don't even mind the minute bit of sand that you are sure to ingest (kind of like eating the beach). They are also in the dangerfood category and I like that, too.
I usually only eat them when I am drinking champagne and I think they are fucking delicious.
I read a review of a new restaurant the other day in Time Out New York,and it read, rather poetically I might add, "the oysters fill out their shells the way Jane Mansfield filled out a bustier."
Jane Mansfield was retardedly beautiful.
And by that I mean that she was stunning. Men probably made fools out of themselves in front of her on a regular basis. Unfortunately, all I can think of when I hear the name Jane Mansfield is that she was decapitated in a car accident. Decapitated!
And then oysters are the last thing on my mind. I can only think now about how there is an 8-second delay when the head is severed from the body. You can STILL SEE AND HEAR (and look at your own body, horrifyingly) for EIGHT seconds after your head's been sliced off.
Anyways, after reading this somewhat hilarious description of the edible oceanic pearls, I thought once again about the absurdity and seriousness to which some NewYorkers view dining. Last summer, I read about a restaurant with an asinine price point in Chelsea, where patrons went to the pier and CAUGHT THEIR OWN FISH and had the restaurant prepare it for them. This is in the Hudson, mind you, where the blue plate special is hypodermic needle soup! Every day o' the week!
While I tried to keep up with the auctioneerish verbal pace that my waiter adopted to zoom through the specials while eating out this weekend, I laughed to myself thinking of MY mock NY restaurant menu. This would include nothing simpler than my recipe for Filet mignon marinated in Childrens Tears, most likely served on a mattress of Maytag-washed spinach and assasinated beets (pureed, duh). Naturally, this would be polished off with a light dusting of crushed Adderrall. Something like that.
In closing, adventurousness in the kitchen IS fun but you gotta take it with a grain of salt, so to speak. And to quote Sedaris on the topic once more... "What I really want is a cigarette, and I'm always searching the menu in the hopes that some courageous young chef has recognized tobacco as a vegetable."
3 comments:
i have several questions:
- who was/ is jane mansfield?
- has it really been substantiated that you can see and hear for 8 seconds after you get decapitated? i'm not sure i can believe that.
- i'll bring the adderall!
Rumors that Mansfield was decapitated are untrue, though she did suffer severe head trauma. This urban legend was spawned by the appearance in police photographs of a crashed automobile with its top virtually sheared off, and what resembles a blonde haired head tangled in the car's smashed windshield. It is believed that this was either a wig that Mansfield was wearing or was her actual hair and scalp. The death certificate stated that the immediate cause of Mansfield's death was a "crushed skull with avulsion of cranium and brain." Following her death, the NHTSA began requiring an underride guard, a strong bar made of steel tubing, to be installed on all tractor-trailers. This bar is also known as a Mansfield bar.
Drew, I love that you did some research on your own about whom I think of as the poor mans Marilyn Monroe. Though the 7 Year Itch is one of my favorite movies EVER, I love the Underdog Mansfield. haha.
Anyways, good to know that was a rumor, and she was just scalped, not beheaded. Thank you for enlightening me!
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