The Beast and I got home at exactly the same time on Friday after work. He was carrying an LCBO bag filled with cocktail necessities and was eager to get down to business. I was eager to get into my caftan and drink whatever he was about to create.
Although there have been sunny days in 2015, something about Friday felt like it was the first of the season. We didn’t want to miss a moment of it. By 5:30 p.m., we were sitting on the deck with reading materials and drinks. The Beast was reading a 650-page biography about Saul Bellow for an upcoming book review he’s writing. I was reading Twitter.
The Beast and I met up at the big Chapters at the corner of Bay and Bloor on Tuesday night. I found him in the politics section, gently turning over a tome on ISIS between his hands. “I have to go to the washroom,” I told him.
“Meet me in fiction afterwards,” he said. “I’ll be in the dick section.”
Foodie: Last night I dreamt that I bought a condo.
Beast: Last night I dreamt I was a Ralph Lauren model.
Foodie: And it was really, really big. Like, it had two levels.
Beast: And I got paid in clothes.
Foodie: Did I tell you what I saw yesterday looking out into the backyard from the sunroom?
Beast: Not yet.
Foodie: How would you describe the sea? Like, what colour?
Foodie: But like what kind of blue?
Foodie: Electric teal. Like, it’s electric. I would describe it like all the Crayola crayons in the blue and green range were melted down into liquid form.
Beast: That’s beautiful.
Descending the steps into the Keg–it’s a steakhouse–at Yonge and Eglinton:
Foodie: When did the Keg get so damn cool?!
Beast: It’s like a jazz bar.
Foodie: Yeah, a jazz bar! Low lights, lots of black leather and everything’s shiny! Except there are also people wearing baseball hats backwards. This is going to be awesome.
Not just because we were back at the Keg–the subject of this blog’s first-ever post–but also because we’d just seen the Oscar-nominated film Whiplash at the theatre across the street from the restaurant. This was a jazzy Keg and the movie was about the fraught and complicated relationship between a jazz drummer and his instructor. There was a bit of a wait for a table. But the bar was wide open. So we saddled up there, quickly ordered our Keg classic stripling dinners (garlic mashed potatoes for me and baked potato with him) and started off with cocktails. Keg-sized cocktails.
This morning, in the kitchen:
Beast: We need to get rid of our sugar bowl.
Foodie: No we don’t.
Beast: Yes we do. And that little plate it sits on too.
Foodie: No we don’t. I love them both so much.
Beast: They look like they belong in a fucking dump: like they belong to a character in a Miranda July novel.