Take a seat, please. Do you care for a glass of champagne? Of course you do; the sound of a champagne cork popping is a salute to you, our welcomed guest. Thanks for stopping by.
This is our Blog, and we’re lucky to have a group of contributing bloggers and guest writers that bring vast domestic and global cultural and culinary experiences to our pool of epicurean savoir-fare. We are going to spin the “Lazy Susan” and take you to every restaurant in The Bahamas and you’ll dine with us as we visit different restaurants around the world. You will even get to be in the kitchen with us as we break-down classic recipes, and create some new ones to add to your home chef repertoire.
So, before I sign off in my welcome speech I think I should tell you a story. Enjoy a little laugh, on me.
I decided it was a wise idea to go to a newly opened restaurant in a gentrified Hong Kong neighborhood to dine on some French-Asian fusion food the night before I had to take a 16 hour non-stop flight to New Jersey. At the time, foie-gras was the trendy food of the elder millennial and up and coming chefs. Aside from the horribly unethical process of procuring these prized goose livers, the other reason no one should eat this stuff is it tastes like shit.
So, I go there with my nose in the air and crown tilted to the side like the food snob I can sometimes be. The tasting menu had 5 courses, and the first one out of the gate was an “open face foie-gras sandwich”. It had a house made cranberry and red currant compote, lightly seared on both sides, garnished with a light sprinkling of tarragon, and sea salt and served on a slice of house made sourdough bread toasted with a light drizzle of olive oil. I ate the thing in two bites, and in two minutes I knew there was going to be a problem.
Almost as soon as I swallowed it, my stomach sent a message to my brain saying “Hey Guy, so listen, we’ve got a nuclear scale level of contamination here. Brace yourself”.
I couldn’t finish any of the other courses. I couldn’t even drink water. It felt as though someone had sealed the entrance to my stomach and had begun inflating it. I barely made it out of the red taxi and into my hotel before it all came up right there on the sidewalk. The hotel concierge came out and offered me some water, and a towel. I eventually made it up to my room and basically cuddled the toilet for the rest of the night like it had saved me from the rain and I was trying to get warm. It was like coming home too drunk and trying to close your eyes – the room wouldn’t stop spinning.
I mustered up the strength to make it to bed, and got my cell phone out to Google the telephone number for United Airlines customer service. There was no way I could fly feeling like this, surely. I rang them up, and after being put on hold for 15 minutes (i.e. – forever) I asked one question and I was certain that I’d be able to fly and in fact my stomach felt fine, immediately.
Through all the grumbling of my stomach and the pain I was in, buying all that medication and managing my ailment with a Dramamine, Antacid and charcoal tablet binge for 24 hours was the clear solution.
The question I asked that was the cure was “What’s the fee to change the ticket?” Now, never mind that I was in Hong Kong, I was still newly into the job market, and in fact I was wilding well above my meager means at the time. I had money, but not that much of it. The change fee was USD$1250.00, plus I’d had to have paid for another night at my hotel.
That was the cheapest doctor visit I’ve ever had with an airline customer service representative it costs me USD$3.50. I managed to make it to New Jersey, and then home without incident, though as soon as I landed the concoction wore off and it was back to the purge. To this day, I can’t even smell foie-gras without my stomach knocking at my brain’s door like “HEY HEY. WE ARE NOT DOING THIS AGAIN, NICHOL-ASS, ARE YOU NUTS?”.
Enjoy hearing from the other contributing bloggers, and guest writers.
Welcome to our Kitchen Table.
Founder & Editor
The Food & Culture Co.