The Epicure

Posted on November 29, 2007


Every Wednesday some people I know go to La Bodega for what they call Wet ‘n’ Wild Wednesdays. I only went once, but yesterday I was on a beer roll and so Spaz and I moved on to there, where some 20 people were in attendance and in very high spirits.

We sat down and struck up conversations with our neighbours, many of whom were unknown to us. I thumbed through the menu, and offhandedly remarked to Spaz, “My God, what can ‘quenelles of onion confits’ possibly mean?” To my intense astonishment someone actually answered. A voice to my left said, “Actually a confit is basically cooking something in its own juices…while a quenelle…”

“What??” I turned. This guy appeared to actually be speaking about confits. I leaned so far towards him in such interest and shock that Spaz laughed loudly across the table.

“Yes…you take two spoons and sort of shape the food with them…that’s a quenelle…a dollop really.” I gaped for a while.

“Wow, I think that turned me on a little bit,” I said. He giggled.

He’s also from Fiji originally. The upshot of both these characteristics was of course my agreeing to go to dinner with him on Saturday. I don’t think I will ever again encounter anyone with any affiliation with quenelles or Fiji, which is really one of the best reasons for going out with someone I’ve experienced in some time. Feshfesh agreed, and with the utmost enthusiasm asked if there was a sister.

The evening also gave me a chance to listen to some excellent stories concerning the perfection of a fellow Wet ‘n’ Wilder’s nipples. In return I felt the need to present my interlocutor with the phrase “warm anuses”, gleaned from here, which I felt stood alone and didn’t need a story at all. I had presented another friend with it some days previously. Both these men said to me, “Thanks for sharing. I could easily have lived without that.”

“I know!” I said happily, both times. I love evocative horrifying stuff. It’s why I love the movie Superbad. Watch that shit.