Infoodelity
Somewhere between the Sea of Cortez scallops (complete with candied kumquats swimming in lemon aioli) and the grilled nigari (succulent on its bed of sauteed fiddleheads), Gwen looked up in [what appeared to be] alarm."Oh my god," she said. "My husband should be here: This is the sort of meal you have sex after."
And then we realized: There in the mellow candlelight of the Olema Inn, we had committed the sin of infoodelity.
It's a delicate issue, the conspicuous consumption of excellent food in the absence of one's spouse or partner. For a to-die-for meal must be described in detail to the one who could not partake. A verbal post-mortem, in fact, increases enjoyment.
This means, of course, that the infoodel must confess.
(Note to the uninitiated: When confessing this sin, it is essential to e-nun-ci-ate carefully lest one be accused of a far greater transgression.)
For the true foodie, the act of confession must be executed in excruciating detail. Yet to appear too enraptured by now-digested delicacies only increases the degree of one's culpability.
So Gwen and I were caught: We could not not gloat about our serindipitous find of Chef Vigil's delicate fava/pea puree, the perfect fish, and the excellent Russian River pinot noir that accompanied them. To omit the details would be to deny glory to God--surely a sin in and of itself?
Yet how could we present our satiated selves to our spouses and still defend our honor? We couldn't, of course.
So we took the only possible action: We ordered dessert.
(Bread pudding, cream sherry, and chocolate cake in chocolate sauce, to be exact. They were perfect too.)
.: Posted by Duane Bidwell on Thursday, May 20, 2004
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