Thursday, April 20, 2006

i'm not wild about "tartar" either...

Some words make me wildly uncomfortable. I guess this is true with all people. Say the word “utensil” around my mother and she’ll throw something at you. I’ve got a million of these words and I’ve found as soon as I admit to one, it’s used again me relentlessly.
Kelsey, Mikey and I went to a late dinner at Pluto’s last night. Mike ordered the Tri-tip sandwich, au jus.
“What’s that sauce?” asked Kelsey, pointing to Mike’s plate.
“Don’t say it!” I screamed. “I fucking hate that word.”
“What word?” Mike looked up. “Au Jus?”
“Oh my god, ewww.”
Kelsey laughed. “Why do you hate au jus?”
“Because.” I said, as Mikey took a bite. “It’s like blood juice.”
“Au Juuuus. I like saying it.”
“Seriously. Stop.”
“I’m not understanding what’s wrong with au jus.”
“Keep antagonizing me. Watch what happens.”
Back and forth they went, in some kind of vaudevillian routine in which they each word “au jus” into seemingly unrelated sentences, culminating with Mikey’s hit, “I’m not Catholic. I’m au jus.”
“Oh my god, you guys are assholes.”
“I like au jus. I like eating au jus. I like saying au jus...”
Kelsey looked at him. “Do you like drinking au jus?”
“Oh my god. Kelsey, don’t.”
“I dare you to drink your au jus.”
Well now he had to. “Michael, that’s blood sauce.”
“It’s like pan drippings.”
“People, let’s call it what it is.“ They both turned to me. “AU JUS!”
Mikey examined his little bowl of au jus, sniffing it, considering the consequences.
Kelsey could barely contain her excitement. “Beth, pull out your camera! Mike, pose with the au jus! Get a pose shot, then a drinking shot. Oh, this is fucking awesome. Chug the AU JUS!”

He knocked his head back and downed the au jus, choking as he looked back at us.
“Oh my god, I owe you a drink. I can’t believe you did that.”
“Uh, I need some water or something to push that shit down.”
“Go get some.” Sighed Kelsey. “And get me something fried and greasy while you’re up there.”
We looked across the restaurant and noticed that the couple next to Mike was getting ready to go, leaving a barely touched plate of spectacular seasoned curly fries.
“Um, you guys. Check out those fries. Those people are abandoning them.”
“We can’t take them.”
“Why not?” I asked. “That couple looked clean.”
“They do look pretty good.”
“Seriously. But I’m not taking them.”
“Mike, just grab ‘em.”
“Ugh, no. I’m scared.”
With that, 2 poorly dressed bike messengers swooped by and grabbed it, non-challantly bringing it back to THEIR table.
“Those losers stole our fries!”
“Oh my god, now I really want them.”

I was shocked at their moxie. “Now that other people have taken them, I’m convinced how totally harmless they are. Suddenly, I feel that my fries have been stolen. God, we should’ve taken them.”
“I know!” Mike said. “We should walk over there claim them back.”
“Oh, forget it, guys. Let’s go to the bar next door.” Kelsey said, as she put on her coat. “We don’t have any more au jus sauce to dip them in anyway…”


Anonymous said...

I like Mikey's sweater.
And I hate the word placenta.

Spots said...

I agree on both of those.

Oh, and also...while guarding our table as M and K ordered, I spotted an aquaintence we'll call Phil. Phil saw me and I saw Phil, although both of us pretended to be oblivious. The last thing I wanted to do was have an awkward hug with Phil and meet Phil's new girlfriend, and I guess Phil was thinking the same thing about me. And as I watched him out of the corner of my eye, I applauded our silent and mature agreement to skip the pleasantries and ignore each other. But then he walked past me, head held over-compensatingly high and pace just a little too fast and I thought, "Fuck you, Phil. You should be so lucky..."

sfmike said...

You need to summon your inner Bike Messenger the next time you're hungry and there are unused Curly Fries reaching out to you. No talk, just scoop 'em. And if you've ever worked backstage in a restaurant, you'd know that hygiene of any sort is a sometime thing.

My word is "blood-sausage," which I suppose is related to A.J. And how dare Phil not just bow at your feet? Jeesh!