Page 30 of Kept
“But what exactlyisit,” she whispers, her giggles hidden behind the menu as I shake my head at her and explain.
“Potage saint-germain is just green pea soup.”
“Ewwww.”
I snort softly, keenly aware of the waiter hovering over my right shoulder.
“Order something for me, Josie, something I will like.”
I nod and flick through the menu. Margarita likes flavoursome dishy, hearty meals with rich sauces and more on the plate than usually provided in a restaurant of this type - and nothing too interesting in terms of creatures or body parts. I on the other hand like to experiment, and since we are dining in the most expensive restaurant in Vegas, I want to try dishes that I might not otherwise be able to afford to cook or ever eat again.
“OK,” I nod to the waiter, “my friend will have the salad violette accompanied by a white Bordeaux, followed by the tournedos au poivre vert, again with a Bordeaux, and for dessert, the tôt-fait à la mirabelle accompanied by a demi-sec champagne. I will have the artichauts poivrade à la crecque accompanied by an oaked chardonnay, jambon de vend?e aux mogettes with a merlot, lapin à la moutarde, with a shiraz or perhaps a fruity red, and for dessert the cannel?s with sauternes.
Unlike the waiter in Boston, this one does not raise an eyebrow over the fact I ordered two mains.
“Oh my God,” Margarita whispers as the waiter leaves, “tell me ‘mogettes’ is not cat.”
I burst out laughing and have to hold my white linen serviette to my face to try to smother my giggles as other guests frown at us.
“No, it is pork.”
“And lapin?”
“Rabbit.”
“You are eating a bunny? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m eating things I don’t normally get the chance to cook.”
“I hope I’m not.”
“No,” I laugh again, you are having a fig and ham salad for entrée, a steak with peppercorns dish for main, and a plum brandy cake for dessert with champagne. You can share my mains too and try them if you like. We can probably follow with cheese later, if we can fit it in.”
“Ah, no cheese, Jerry doesn’t like it if I eat too many dairy products, he said he can smell it on me, and he has an allergy.”
“Weird. But you haven’t seen Jerry yet, and we have been here a whole day, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“Whatever,” she shrugs, “What are you having? Besides Thumper.”
“Chilled artichokes for entrée, ham with white haricot beans and mustard bunny for main, and a kind of caramel cake for dessert – you know the one, I have those special little moulds for cannel?s, but I can’t get them to set right.”
“Terrific, she grins, “you will learn and eat at the same time.”
“That is the plan. Are you sure you can afford this, though? I mean you blew a shit-load at the casino this afternoon.”
“I’ve got this, don’t worry.”
I lean back in my seat and sigh in contentment. We are only just eating our desserts now, four hours in, and I can honestly say this has been the best meal of my life, and very instructive too.
I frown as Margarita leans down beneath the table for what seems to me to be the third or fourth time.
“Are you OK?”
“Sure, she gives me a cheeky wink and then startles the hell out of me with a loud scream.
Everyone stops what they are eating, some drop their forks and spoons in fright and stare at us, as Margarita stands and points down to her plate, a horrified look upon her face.
When I look over, I almost vomit instantly.
