Mary and I went on an outing yesterday. Our in-laws, Erin's parents, kindly invited us to attend a meal with them at the Galt House, a hotel with revolving restaurant on the top floor (25th) in Louisville, Kentucky (see image). We had done this adventure successfully once before and thus readily agreed. We were also driven to it, so to speak, by our son, J-D and his wife Erin. I do not eat much any more for various reasons, but that was about to change for this meal, an all you can eat feast.
One reason why I no longer eat much is the neuropathy. I can't feel the silver ware; I tend to drop them and generally make a mess. I drop knives, forks, spoons, napkins, oh yes, and, of course, food. I try to be very careful, but the gods do not smile kindly on me at table; actually, I think that is because they are too busy laughing hysterically. "There goes his fork!" "Hahaha!" "Watch him try to pick it up!" "Oops!" "Now he's banged his head on the table, trying to get out from under!" "Hohoho!" Saints in Heaven. I even suspect my guardian angel of having the day off to participate in the festivities at my expense. Of course there's laughter in Heaven, I just hope it is not always at my expense.
I suspect they have a great time when I take a shower. "How many times has he dropped the soap today?" Why must they make it so slippery? I remember that when I was young, some relative gave me a bar of soap on a rope. I thought it was funny! Why would soap makers do such a thing? Well, where is a Dove on a rope when you need one? And it would have to be Dove, for I have delicate skin, of course, ready to turn red and itch at any inopportune moment.
Well, let the gods and angels do their best, I was determined to enjoy the feast, and the first item on the menu was an omelet; we had passed the waffle and omelet station on the way to our table, where "they" even let me eat with the adults. Our personal waiter, Steven Jr., took our drink order, coffee for me, since I could only have one cup before we left home for the long drive to Louisville; anything over twenty minutes is long for me and Louisville is at least ten hours or less; maybe under two hours in all fairness. It always just seems like ten about twenty minutes into it. "Are we there yet, Erin?"
Drink order in, I struggled out of my chair to go for a plate. I do mean struggled, for I have to push up from the chair with one hand and steady myself on the table with the other, all while trying to move the chair back. Fortunately J-D who had just come over from the other table rescued me and pulled the chair back. Together we went to the plate table, where he handed me the heaviest plate I had ever felt. Good grief! It felt as though it was made of lead. Fortunately, J-D rescued me again, took my plate as well as his (I didn't notice him struggling; he must be working out again), and we made our way to the Omelet Station. I chose onions, tomatoes and both cheeses. The onions and tomatoes were sautéed immediately, the prepared egg mixture was put into another pan and cooked; then it was all dumped expertly onto the egg, folded over and dumped again onto my plate. J-D carried my plate to the table while his was cooking, and I was ready to lay into the first course, mostly. At this point the damn fork turned rebellious and absolutely would not turn over so that I could use it. So I grappled with the knife (no problem there), then grabbed the fork while it was looking elsewhere, I guess. Not taking any more chances with the silverware, I mumbled my thanks to the Almighty and I tucked in to the food while I had the silverware in my grasp! The omelet was delicious; the onion was sweet and sautéed perfectly. I love cheese.
Meanwhile I had no sooner started on the omelet than Mary showed up with a smaller plate of fruit and blu cheese. I love fruit, and blu cheese. What a woman. She, like Eve, or maybe not, had given me ripe pineapple, fresh raspberries, and melon slices of several varieties. While I usually eat one food item at a time, this time I mixed them up. A bite of omelet, a taste of pineapple, a chunk of blu cheese, a raspberry or two, and soon everything was gone.
Now I needed more coffee and the plates cleared, but Steven Jr. was nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile Mary had left her fruit and whatever plate (there was something dark there down under everything else that looked as though it had crawled up out of the bowels of the earth, or out of an H. P. Lovecraft story at least. And on top of her plate but just under her cantaloupe slices was a piece of ripe pineapple. Oh my. Sarah, Erin's mother was sitting past Mary to my right; Ann, her husband's sister, was sitting to my left. They acted like two angels, one good and one a little better. Take it Gene, Mary won't remember; well, she will probably remember since there is only one. I listened to Sarah and took it. How sweet it was. Mary returned. Sarah tried to cover for me, but Ann of course gave it away. I just confessed and told her I was off to get more fruit and that I would pay her back. You see, I had noticed the smaller plate and thought to my self, I can handle that.
I ventured off on my own amidst this ocean of people and tables and food. First, of course, the gods were giggling again. "Hide the small plates!" They hid the small plates. I could not find a stack of them anywhere, until I came to the waffle/omelet station. Ah Ha! Not so smart after all. I grabbed a small plate and noticed the waffles I had slighted the first time. They looked good. I picked a waffle up (with my fingers) and found the fruit sauce, a blueberry, strawberry, and blackberry sauce. I sloshed it on my waffle, and more powered suger than I am ever allowed at home. Oh joy! Take that table gods.
That left the fruit table. There was enough room on my small plate for more pineapple and raspberries. I picked up the metal tongs and immediately heard distant laughter; I ignored it. I shouldn't have. If forks turn in my hands, you should see what happens to metal tongs that you need to grasp intelligently and squeeze. I missed the first piece of succulent pineapple; I tried again. The tongs turned. I missed. There was a row of pineapple sitting like dominoes turned sideways. I had the tongs, I slipped them into the pineapple and squeezed just enough to pick them up and drop them on my plate. Not knowing when to quit, I went back for more. The tongs slipped again, again I missed. To hell with it I thought, I'll just pick the piece up; no one else was there. I tried. Fingers didn't work either. I was beginning to sweat. I slid the piece of pineapple across the tray and off the edge onto my plate. That worked so well, I tried it again, Mary's piece. Hers fell on the table. I tried to pick it up but it squirted out of my hand onto the floor. OMG! I kicked it under the table and slid another one onto my plate, which worked, and I quickly hurried away and back to the safety of our table. "Where's my piece?" Right there, sweetheart.
This first waffle with fruit sauce was so good that I quickly devoured it, and went back for two more. We hunter gatherers stay busy, work up appetites. I had already had more than I usually eat in three days. Never mind that. I tried to tong a waffle (everyone makes up verbs nowadays); that didn't work, the cook wasn't looking, I snatched one from the freshly cooked group with my hand, then a second. Plenty of room for sauce. I attacked the sauce. I suddenly had a vision of everyone standing over the bowl and spooning the fruit sauce onto their waffles. I'll probably end up with Ebola, I thought, and spooned on another helping, then went for the powdered suger. I considered stealing the large bowl of sugar, but there was no way I could carry it and my loaded plate. Besides greed was sending me back to the pineapple. I heaped up the powdered sugar, went to the fruit, didn't waste time with the tongs, just grabbed four pieces and layered them on top of the fruit soup. If it were heated to a high enough temperature a new form of life might emerge.
When I returned to the table, people were gobsmacked by the sheer quantity I had managed to get onto my small plate. I think they cheered but I might have misheard the acclamation. In any case, I ate once again. The pineapple had turned brown from the sugar and sauce, the waffles had soaked up enough of the sauce to turn them purple. I made magic with my knife and spoon this time and shoveled in the food. What a time I was having!
The gods were hysterical, the angels were dancing, and I, for once, was full.