Foodie: I’m home!
Beast (yelling from the kitchen): What time is it?
Foodie: I don’t know, I just got in the door man!
Beast: I’ll tell you what time it is: it’s GRILL TIME!
I found the Beast in the kitchen dancing to Milton Brown and his Musical Brownies (I’ve been told he’s the godfather of Western Swing) and preparing a lavish dinner which included hanger steak.
Foodie: OMG! LOL! WTF? The last thing I wanted to do tonight was make dinner and here you are, answering my prayers.
Beast: I’ve got some leeks, Roma tomatoes, portobello mushrooms and red peppers ready to be grilled with the steak, which I’ll be serving with shaving of parmigiano and rocket.
Foodie: Rocket? Did you just say rocket?
Foodie: You can call arugola whatever you want so long as I don’t have to do the dishes. I see you haven’t cleaned up along the way, like I do.
Beast: No, I haven’t. Why don’t you take a look around the house and maybe you’ll better understand why I didn’t have time to “clean up along the way.”
I don’t know what overcame him, but the Beast decided to go through his books and CDs in both the living room and dining room and organize them–he even plans on selling a whole bunch, which he “organized” on top of the dining room table.
While I showered (my bike ride home makes me extremely sticky), the Beast grilled. And he grilled like a true master.
Foodie: That steak looks like it’s from a magazine! I am so proud of you.
Beast: Look; I arranged the vegetables too!
Foodie: Yes, they look beautiful. You know you can’t eat the the tough green ends of the leeks, right?
Beast: (pause.) Yes, but they’re much more visually arresting this way.
The steak was incredible, and cooked to a perfect medium rare. Now I know I said in a previous post that the Beast and I enjoy eating outside, and that’s true. But we recently picked up season six of Northern Exposure and it simply must be watched at dinner time.
Foodie: I love Chris the DJ.
Beast: No, I love Chris the DJ.
Foodie: If you love me, you’ll drive me to Tom’s .
Beast: Get in the car.
The Beast and I had a set of wheels at our disposal for the past three weeks–a 1986 Oldsmobile with bench-style seats and a gear shifter thing beside the steering wheel to be exact. On one of our Queensway Harvey’s field trips (if you don’t know what that means, read about it here,) we discovered a place called Tom’s Dairy Freeze, that sells soft serve ice cream. One of my favourite treats–since I was a kid– is vanilla soft serve dipped in butterscotch. So we’ve established a ritual, as a reprisal of sorts from these hot summer nights: the Beast and I settle into the plush, infinite seats, roll down the windows, and listen to AM radio while we cruise the Queensway on our way for soft serve. It’s glorious.
Foodie: I wish we had a car all summer so we could come visit Tom whenever we wanted. This place looks like it’s right out of an Edward Hopper painting.
Beast: Good reference, if you graduated from “Basic Art References 101.” Try this one: if I were to give my ice cream a title I would call it Synthetic Ice Cream Cone #2, by Marinetti.
Foodie: He was a Futurist you know.
Beast: Of course I know, that’s why I came up with the title.
Foodie: Why are you eating your ice cream so funny?
Beast: I’m trying not to get it in my beard.
Foodie: It’s not working. It’s everywhere. Look–there’s some on your shirt, and a little on your knee.
Beast: Maybe you could get me a napkin.
Foodie: Sure thing.
Foodie (while handing the Beast several napkins): I can’t believe the line-up at this place. And look at all the soccer moms! (The Beast has an odd affinity for soccer moms. Mom, a soccer mom is usually about 40 years old and attractive-ish, and she wears her long locks in a pony-tail and dresses in tank tops, yoga pants, and flip flops.)
Beast: Oh, I’ve seen them.
Foodie: I don’t think that one over there is wearing a bra.
Beast: Oh, I know.
Foodie: Why didn’t you get your ice cream dipped?
Beast: Because it’s too messy. And because it tastes like wax. (Pause) And because I didn’t want it to come out looking like an ice cream cone dressed in a Diane Von Fursternberg.
Foodie: That’s clever.
Beast: Or maybe I should have gotten it dipped; dipped in diamonds à la Damien Hirst!
Foodie: Are you done? You’re crazy.
Beast: You know what’s crazy? That this is the most exotic thing we’ve done with this car. We could have gone to the Toronto Zoo, or the Ontario Science Centre…
Foodie: We drove to the cottage last weekend. And besides, I think this place is very exotic: women aren’t wearing bras and you look like a wild animal foaming at the mouth on account of the ice cream in your beard.
Beast: It’s like a Gaugin and a post-modern Robert Bateman rolled into one painting.
Maybe it’s for the best that we no longer have car access, at least until next summer.