More From "Bourdain's" Blog of Bon Temp
Did I or did I not see a border collie with a man's clothes in his teeth yesterday? I was pretty fucked up yesterday, but it reminded me of France...they let dogs in everywhere, too. On the off chance I did not see it, debauchery appears to be a young man's game...don't laugh, it will happen to you, too.
Where was I?
Maybe in some universe where my head does not pulse with pain with my every breath, I could describe Fangtasia without resorting to some schlocky movie I hated, but for right now, I'll just lay it on the line, okay?
Fangtasia fucking had me at hello. (Aside from the gift shop, which was tacky enough for me to wish for a wooden stake for my own heart.)
Maybe because it was dark, and seedy. Illicit, the way bars are supposed to be. I especially liked the helpful "No Biting on Premises" signs scattered throughout...not a touch you'll find at T.J. McFunster's, although I knew a few clubs in the eighties that could have used one.Fangtasia also boasts some of the comeliest drug dealers I've ever seen, offering some designer thing called V. The pitch is the same as always: superhuman strength, best sex you've ever had, blah, blah. I smile and tell them I've been on that ride already, but now I'm tempted. Just a little to take care of my headache. Right. If I did that, the next thing would be me living in the back room, making blood flambe. No thanks. Better ten thousand brunch shifts than that. Especially working for a vampire named *Pam*.