The Joy's of Indian Food.
I haven't seen one of my dearest and best friends Jesse Owens in about two years. He is an Archeologist living in Austin with His Girl Meg(a dancer). Now Jesse is just about the most interesting person i know. He is studying to be a Yoga Master. He is extremely well read in philosophy/religion and History, he actually reads source material on this stuff.He has read more Buddhist philosophy than you can shake a stick at. Jessie is about 6'5" with long hair, kinda reminds one of a not so buff Fabio..but brainier (assuming that Fabio is not an expert in eastern religions and medieval Celtic history and north American prehistory).
He is the one guy who I visit with that makes my face hurt from laughing.
So it was with much joy last weekend that we finally hooked up in Austin at the Celtic Festival. We had only one day due to Meg's Schedule, so we decided to go out to dinner for his birthday.
Now mind we were at the Celtic festival, which means a good deal of our Dallas/FW friends were there as well, and it was somewhat of a dilemma to visit with Jess alone, but not appear to be ditching our other friends, but they are an understanding lot and they had each other so I didn't feel too bad about having a more intimate dinner with an old dear friend. So we went to his favorite Indian place in Austin, an upscale place called the clay pot.
Now things are going well, the wine was good (a nice Malbec) and the conversation was lively and 1/2 way through our faces hurt from all the laughing. We even had a cute and sassy waitress (kinda reminded me of the girl in the "New Karate Kid" movie.) at any rate things were going really well and it was a lovely dinner, then things changed.
I spent time in Britain in my youth, and heard of some spectacular stories..one involved a friend of Virginia Wolf (Horace de Vere Cole) who once bought tickets to a play, only to give them all away on the streets,but only to men who obliged him when he asked them to remove their hats...when the actors took the stage, the seats, all occupied by bald men spelled out "shit". Of course only those in the balcony and the stage were aware..the gentlemen themselves enjoyed the play blissfully unaware of their involvement. Cole is reported to have watched with glee.
This story on a classic practical joke was being given in the commons of a college in Cambridge where i was attending one of those summer high school classes. My parents believed in travel as education (thanks mom and dad!) and this fellow was the quintessential Englishman...complete with bowler hat and ascot. He was holding forth on how Americans are completely satisfied that the practical joke can be played without having to view the results, whereas your Brit has to watch the results. I cannot for the life of me remember any example the fellow gave to back up this difference.
He went on to tell how one fellow went to the local slaughter house and picked up cow udders. he would then proceed down the street with a single teat poking out through his fly. When couples couples would pass, the aghast gentleman would take the fellow aside and inform him that a portion of his genitalia was exposed and that the lady was offended and would he kindly put it back where it belonged. The fellow would look down and act shocked and horrified, pull out his penknife and slice the offensive member completely off, show it to the couple, stuff it into his pocket, apologize for being so rude and walk away, thanking now retching onlookers. - at least that's how the story was told and I believed him, after all, he had a bowler hat on and was dressed very well and lets face it the English accent can tell you that there are icebergs in the Sahara, and you tend to think it's true.
My favorite story is an april fool joke and is a good 'ol American one...full story is here.
A brief explanation is that George Plimpton invented a guy who supposedly could throw a fastball 168 mph with pinpoint control named Sidd finch...Sidd learned the art in a Tibetan Monastery, but was deciding between baseball and Playing the french horn. The team was the Hapless Mets (the coaches and manager went happily along with the joke - that being a tradition in the baseball world), and that world went nuts..."it will destroy the game!" cried everyone not a met fan..they didn't reveal the hoax for two weeks, April 15th. Now maybe Plimpton just found himself being gleeful at the notion someone would believe him. He didn't actually produce a player..(the Mets DID see link above) but there really was nothing to "see". so maybe the Limey was right.
Imagine now then when the Dallas folks (The band Candy played with and their relations plus Shaddow and Gypsy) show up at the restaurant. Stopping by our now semi-inebriated table before proceeding to a large table in the corner. Now if you had a cute sassy waitress, that reminded you of the girl in million dollar baby, and you just saw a huge number of your friends show up a a table nearby, and you had polished off two bottles of Malbec, would you carpe diem and stay to watch the result, or carpe diem and leave letting your imagination allow itself to provide you with glee? This was our dilemma.
When our waitress shows up again i say to her." See that table over there, I will give you 15 bucks if you can get their waitress to say your out of everything," (i find corrupting youths with bribery expedites carpeing your diem) She looked at us decidedly uncorruptible..., "no, no they are good friends.." Candy (my lovely and thoroughly fun-loving wife who doesn't miss a beat) chimes in " and they have a great sense of humor -trust us," at that our waitress seemed amenable and agreed to talk to the waitress of their table.
The problem was of course that the other waitress, the one in charge of that table bore no resemblance whatsoever to the girl in "The Core", and thus was doubtful as an accomplice. And our waitress (who does) informed us that it might not work out. "Look," I say, "after she takes their order, just go over and start telling them that there is no lamb, chicken or seafood dishes available, but that they can have the naan with sides of curry sauce". She flashes a smile... "OH that would be great!" So after the other waitress had taken their orders, our waitress, who has waited a suitable amount of time and making sure the other waitress doesn't interrupt, goes to their table.
She proceeds to tell them that she was very sorry, but there were no dishes with meat available- they were out of meat; it was so busy tonight- which of course was pretty much everything they had ordered. But that they could have vegetarian dishes. The group looked as if collectively they had all been hit square in the forehead with a two-by-four. "You mean there is no seafood?" someone else asked. The waitress who not only resembles the actress in "Boys Don't Cry", but is now keeping rivaling her acting abilities, keeps a straight face and, pouring on the seriousness of the situation, she raises her menu to her face, looks, lowers it and says "yes, that's correct, no seafood either. But you can have bread and your choice of curry sauces"
It was a thing of beauty.
What can one say of a master at her craft? She held them spellbound as if in some horrible nightmare from which they were unaile to escape. She was in a word "brilliant", "dazzling", "mesmerizing", "callipygian"! Ok, thats more than one word, and the last was just a personal opinion, but holy cow! she was amazing.
"Let me get this straight", says Jeff, "I can have only vegetables, and Bread and Sauce?"
And here I must say that observing the plan unfold is far superior to the one in my head. Except for obvious anger, there were all the stages of death: denial, bargaining, negotiation and acceptance all played out on the faces of those who love Indian food, about to have the prize taken away just before they get it... so they are looking at each other, unable to quite wrap themselves around the moment.
The waitress, having tortured them enough, finally points at us (who, by the way, have spent the entire episode being thoroughly British) shaking in gales of suppressed laughter as we catch glimpses of their plight whilst not getting caught gawking. But then as the light dawns, and relief suffuses their faces and several gestures hurled our way, which were unseemly in a public restaurant, (yet somehow appropriate and, of course, well deserved) we were visited again. This time to have the transaction at the table related to us.. .chuckles ensued. They DO have a great sense of humor.
What a delight that I got to see both sets of friends under such happy circumstances. And before leaving, Jesse asked our wonderful waitress to do one last thing: Leave a bill for our table at theirs... she smiled and agreed. We left imagining what would transpire, I guess that was the American in us.
And now you.
He is the one guy who I visit with that makes my face hurt from laughing.
So it was with much joy last weekend that we finally hooked up in Austin at the Celtic Festival. We had only one day due to Meg's Schedule, so we decided to go out to dinner for his birthday.
Now mind we were at the Celtic festival, which means a good deal of our Dallas/FW friends were there as well, and it was somewhat of a dilemma to visit with Jess alone, but not appear to be ditching our other friends, but they are an understanding lot and they had each other so I didn't feel too bad about having a more intimate dinner with an old dear friend. So we went to his favorite Indian place in Austin, an upscale place called the clay pot.
Now things are going well, the wine was good (a nice Malbec) and the conversation was lively and 1/2 way through our faces hurt from all the laughing. We even had a cute and sassy waitress (kinda reminded me of the girl in the "New Karate Kid" movie.) at any rate things were going really well and it was a lovely dinner, then things changed.
I spent time in Britain in my youth, and heard of some spectacular stories..one involved a friend of Virginia Wolf (Horace de Vere Cole) who once bought tickets to a play, only to give them all away on the streets,but only to men who obliged him when he asked them to remove their hats...when the actors took the stage, the seats, all occupied by bald men spelled out "shit". Of course only those in the balcony and the stage were aware..the gentlemen themselves enjoyed the play blissfully unaware of their involvement. Cole is reported to have watched with glee.
This story on a classic practical joke was being given in the commons of a college in Cambridge where i was attending one of those summer high school classes. My parents believed in travel as education (thanks mom and dad!) and this fellow was the quintessential Englishman...complete with bowler hat and ascot. He was holding forth on how Americans are completely satisfied that the practical joke can be played without having to view the results, whereas your Brit has to watch the results. I cannot for the life of me remember any example the fellow gave to back up this difference.
He went on to tell how one fellow went to the local slaughter house and picked up cow udders. he would then proceed down the street with a single teat poking out through his fly. When couples couples would pass, the aghast gentleman would take the fellow aside and inform him that a portion of his genitalia was exposed and that the lady was offended and would he kindly put it back where it belonged. The fellow would look down and act shocked and horrified, pull out his penknife and slice the offensive member completely off, show it to the couple, stuff it into his pocket, apologize for being so rude and walk away, thanking now retching onlookers. - at least that's how the story was told and I believed him, after all, he had a bowler hat on and was dressed very well and lets face it the English accent can tell you that there are icebergs in the Sahara, and you tend to think it's true.
My favorite story is an april fool joke and is a good 'ol American one...full story is here.
A brief explanation is that George Plimpton invented a guy who supposedly could throw a fastball 168 mph with pinpoint control named Sidd finch...Sidd learned the art in a Tibetan Monastery, but was deciding between baseball and Playing the french horn. The team was the Hapless Mets (the coaches and manager went happily along with the joke - that being a tradition in the baseball world), and that world went nuts..."it will destroy the game!" cried everyone not a met fan..they didn't reveal the hoax for two weeks, April 15th. Now maybe Plimpton just found himself being gleeful at the notion someone would believe him. He didn't actually produce a player..(the Mets DID see link above) but there really was nothing to "see". so maybe the Limey was right.
Imagine now then when the Dallas folks (The band Candy played with and their relations plus Shaddow and Gypsy) show up at the restaurant. Stopping by our now semi-inebriated table before proceeding to a large table in the corner. Now if you had a cute sassy waitress, that reminded you of the girl in million dollar baby, and you just saw a huge number of your friends show up a a table nearby, and you had polished off two bottles of Malbec, would you carpe diem and stay to watch the result, or carpe diem and leave letting your imagination allow itself to provide you with glee? This was our dilemma.
When our waitress shows up again i say to her." See that table over there, I will give you 15 bucks if you can get their waitress to say your out of everything," (i find corrupting youths with bribery expedites carpeing your diem) She looked at us decidedly uncorruptible..., "no, no they are good friends.." Candy (my lovely and thoroughly fun-loving wife who doesn't miss a beat) chimes in " and they have a great sense of humor -trust us," at that our waitress seemed amenable and agreed to talk to the waitress of their table.
The problem was of course that the other waitress, the one in charge of that table bore no resemblance whatsoever to the girl in "The Core", and thus was doubtful as an accomplice. And our waitress (who does) informed us that it might not work out. "Look," I say, "after she takes their order, just go over and start telling them that there is no lamb, chicken or seafood dishes available, but that they can have the naan with sides of curry sauce". She flashes a smile... "OH that would be great!" So after the other waitress had taken their orders, our waitress, who has waited a suitable amount of time and making sure the other waitress doesn't interrupt, goes to their table.
She proceeds to tell them that she was very sorry, but there were no dishes with meat available- they were out of meat; it was so busy tonight- which of course was pretty much everything they had ordered. But that they could have vegetarian dishes. The group looked as if collectively they had all been hit square in the forehead with a two-by-four. "You mean there is no seafood?" someone else asked. The waitress who not only resembles the actress in "Boys Don't Cry", but is now keeping rivaling her acting abilities, keeps a straight face and, pouring on the seriousness of the situation, she raises her menu to her face, looks, lowers it and says "yes, that's correct, no seafood either. But you can have bread and your choice of curry sauces"
It was a thing of beauty.
What can one say of a master at her craft? She held them spellbound as if in some horrible nightmare from which they were unaile to escape. She was in a word "brilliant", "dazzling", "mesmerizing", "callipygian"! Ok, thats more than one word, and the last was just a personal opinion, but holy cow! she was amazing.
"Let me get this straight", says Jeff, "I can have only vegetables, and Bread and Sauce?"
And here I must say that observing the plan unfold is far superior to the one in my head. Except for obvious anger, there were all the stages of death: denial, bargaining, negotiation and acceptance all played out on the faces of those who love Indian food, about to have the prize taken away just before they get it... so they are looking at each other, unable to quite wrap themselves around the moment.
The waitress, having tortured them enough, finally points at us (who, by the way, have spent the entire episode being thoroughly British) shaking in gales of suppressed laughter as we catch glimpses of their plight whilst not getting caught gawking. But then as the light dawns, and relief suffuses their faces and several gestures hurled our way, which were unseemly in a public restaurant, (yet somehow appropriate and, of course, well deserved) we were visited again. This time to have the transaction at the table related to us.. .chuckles ensued. They DO have a great sense of humor.
What a delight that I got to see both sets of friends under such happy circumstances. And before leaving, Jesse asked our wonderful waitress to do one last thing: Leave a bill for our table at theirs... she smiled and agreed. We left imagining what would transpire, I guess that was the American in us.
And now you.