I'm not crazy about the pretentiousness of high-faluting restaurants, so to me, this is perfect. Enjoy!!
MAY WE TELL YOU OUR SPECIALS THIS EVENING?
by LARRY DOYLE
Issue of 2005-10-03
We have several.
For an appetizer, the chef has prepared a slaughter of baby salmon on toast points of nine grains-blue corn, barley, rye, chaff, stover, found rice, horse-rolled oats, balsa, and fermented teff flown in daily from Ethiopia-and fancy assorted nuts, which may contain up to ten per cent peanuts. The salmon is very fresh; it was hatched just this morning.
The chef is also offering a personal favorite, his hot spiced rocks. These are igneous and sedimentary varietals, half-washed and heated to nine hundred degrees Fahrenheit, then gleefully sprinkled with international peppers.
For the more adventurous, we have a selection of freshly purchased water crackers spread with unmarked pastes, jellies, and unguents found in the kitchen.
We are also featuring a tasting gavage, in which every appetizer on the menu is wheeled to your table and forced down the gullets of two to four people. The price is twenty-eight dollars per person, plus a nominal service charge. To accompany this course, the chef recommends a bottle of the Pete, which is quite sneaky tonight. It comes in cherry or mixed berry, and is served in brown paper.
Our special soup tonight is Georgian alligator turtle, prepared and presented in its own shell. This soup is served cold and slimy, and, in the traditional manner, with the head and legs attached. We recommend that you not touch the head, as it can snap your finger clean off before you can say, "Hey, this turtle is still alive."
In addition to our usual salad, our chef offers a faux tuna nicoise, which he is recommending not be eaten by anyone trying to limit his mercury consumption.
We also have an iceberg-lettuce leaf, wetted and centered on the plate.
With your soup and salad, the chef suggests two or three cocktails, and not cosmopolitans or candy-assed Martinis but real men's drinks. He is recommending an interesting Thai vodka that he managed to get into this country; the "liquor" is chilled into an aspic, spooned into a shot glass, then served between the breasts of Alicia over there.
Before I tell you the entrees, there is one change to the menu: we are out of the pan-fried squirrel brains tonight, as our supplier fell out of a tree this morning.
Our fish tonight is a Blue Happy, which is a euphemism. It is mostly filleted and sunbaked, then disinfected and served with what may or may not be capers. Blowholes can be requested for an additional charge.
The pasta is a single, comically long strand of spaghetti with a surprise at the end. The sauce is of no consequence.
And, finally, tonight we are offering a very special entree that has been the subject of much debate in the kitchen. It is roast loin of Oliver, a pig that our chef has raised since infancy. Oliver was the runt in a litter of nine, and was, as you can see in this picture, bottle-fed by the chef as a young boy. Oliver grew strong and proud and was soon beating his siblings in their rutting games. Extremely smart, Oliver has thrice saved our chef from fires caused by careless smoking. However, in his latter years Oliver has grown bitter and incontinent, and just yesterday he ate the chef's brand-new cell phone.
Once we receive our first order this evening, Oliver will be smothered by a pillow filled with virgin goose down. This may take the chef some time. Oliver will then be hacked to pieces and charbroiled on a specially blessed grill. His loin will be laid to rest on a bed of tears, with asparagus and a confit of something. The chef would like to serve Oliver to you personally, and give a short eulogy. He will remain tableside, drinking steadily as you eat in silence. Because of the singular nature of this dish and its extreme emotional cost, it is priced at eighteen thousand dollars.
Would you like to order now, or do you need a few moments?
Tom Sietsema: Sounds like my dinner last night! Thanks for the good laugh. I love the New Yorker.
