2007-02-28

Booze Gravy.

Circumstances at work are such that I got to have a very nice three-course dinner at a very nice hotel last night. I like hotels. I like all the little amenities and I'm fascinated by the whole concept of paying a lot of money to feel "cared for." In this case, I didn't have to pay for this dinner, so maybe that's why I kept getting the ol' stink-eye from the waiter for NOT CONSUMING ALCOHOL.

I didn't want a glass of wine with my dinner. He took this news with a bemused sneer. "No? Just WATER then?"

Look, gar�on - I'm sure that the wine list here is second-to-none. I'm sure that the wine you were ready to recommend would've raised my Thai Snapper in Lobster Broth to gastronomic heights heretofore not imagined. But here's the rub: it would make no difference to me whether it's a Fum� Blanc rated among the Top Ten on winesnobs.com or something you grabbed from Trader Joe's. I would drink it without any appreciation of its finer points. I would drink it, then another, then run to another bar and have a Scotch while you weren't looking, and become quite ghastly to behold quite quickly.

"Just water is fine."

When I first quit drinking I was so terrified of alcohol that I wouldn't even keep LISTERINE in the house. But these days I move quite comfortably in the Drinking World, among its Drinking Citizens. I'm quite capable of enjoying my meal, enjoying that band, enjoying this party, without a drink or ten. And it's rarely ever an issue. Until somebody MAKES it one.

I ordered a chocolate souffl� for dessert. I politely declined the accompanying Grand Marnier sauce.

If my refusing to consider wine with my dinner proved mildly irritating to the waiter, he became downright apoplectic at my turning down the Booze Gravy. I'm aware that alcohol "cooks off" but I'm not going to sit here and explain why I am forgoing this not-crucial component of my souffl�. I'm wracked with guilt over it just as it is, and it's going to cost me about 40 minutes on the elliptical tomorrow, so just stop smirking at me like I'm some kind of culinary retard. I'm not a boorish out-of-towner asking for a bottle of A-1 for my filet mignon.

Christ.

I'm not some uppity bitch (well, I AM, actually, but generally not about this) who longs for the reinstatement of Prohibition. I stopped drinking because I got the gift of desperation, and became aware that drinking was slow suicide for me, plain and simple. I just can't do it no more. I am not deserving of anyone's pity, or admiration, for this.

And the souffl� was excellent, by the by, in case anyone's keeping score at home.

lisamcc at 8:48 a.m.

2 comments so far
vikkitikkitavi
2007-02-28 12:47:08
Dear waiter, You cannot blame the patron for your inability to score the upsell. There madness lies.
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Lexi
2007-02-28 13:26:06
Sucky. It really pisses me off when someone else's expectations aren't met and they get uppity! You know what I do? This is bad...in a bitchy way...but when I'm embarrassed by that behaviour I flip it back on them. The embarrassment, I mean. On tour with a band once, one of the guys was harping at me because I needed to stop for a bathroom break. He didn't just say "tsk!" and pull over---he was HARPING at me. "I wouldn't ask if it weren't important," I tried. He didn't accept that, he kept harping about 'making time' etc. So I said extra loudly and clearly: "I have to change my tampon. If you want the dry cleaning bill for this skirt, then keep driving." He shut up, red-faced. And pulled over. Your waiter would have gotten a loud "Do you need me to call my AA sponsor to explain to you why I am perfectly happy with water?"
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