Say hello to the Dentist and Attorneys of the class of 2008.
(Except for the really pregnant one and the one with me, they’re the attorneys of the class of 2009. *grumble* one more year *grumble*)
We all went out to treat ourselves to fancy dinner before heading off to different corners of the Nation to become grownups. (snicker) Our reservation was at what I think is the most famous steakhouse in Indiana. Imagine our surprise when they led us down into the basement to our private table in the wine cellar.
We’re all Mormon. None of us drink. Instead of giddy anticipation we were all overcome with a general sense of confusion at our surroundings. Me being the not wine drinker that I am badgered our waiter with all sorts of wine related questions (after I ordered a Coke of course)
“What’s the oldest bottle in here?” I asked
“That would be the 1902 blah blah something in French blah blah over here that sells for $8,500.”
Folks, that right there is a bottle of hundred and five year old wine that is worth half a semester of Law School.
Then I learned about the limited edition bottle of champagne that is promised to the owner of the Dallas Cowboys if it doesn’t sell by January 2009. It was only $8,000. And it came with a fancy box. That locked.
Then came the menu. The hunks of beef at this place weren’t cheap. BUT WHOO, they were good. (Sorry PETA)
I had prime rib. I had 32 oz. of prime rib. I ate 1/60th of my weight in cow.
Does anybody know about the legend of the tomato juice? No?
Well supposedly steak houses at the turn of the century would serve you a glass of tomato juice as an palate cleanser and to aid in digestion. The tomato juice supposedly helps your body digest steak. Did I say supposedly? IT TOTALLY DOES. Someone my size who is used to eating string cheese and Cheetos should have been miserable after that much cow. But I felt just dandy. Even Cody, the self proclaimed meat eating champion of 2000 couldn’t even keep up with me.
If I was anemic before Saturday night, I guarantee I’m not anymore.
So that was our dinner.
I’d be letting you down if I didn’t tell you what the server’s face looked like when he realized that the enormous table IN THE WINE CELLAR ordered nothing but water, Coke and lemonade.
It was somewhere between a kid who got coal in his stocking on Christmas and someone who’d just been told his Pony Christol had died.