Photos by Peden + Munk
“This is really good chicken. But I thought it was going to be a sandwich,” says The Blonde, looking confused but happy, with knife and fork in hand.
“That’s not the chicken,” I say. “The chicken hasn’t arrived yet. That’s the fried alligator.”
The Blonde’s eyes suddenly look bigger than usual. Her attempts to keep her smile from going crooked fall short. Continue reading
Photo by Brian Leatart
“We’re definitely not going to be having sex tonight, are we?” the voluptuous Brit asks, rhetorically, as she grabs her knife and sets about carving another hunk of steak from its enormous bone. Our foursome is just starting to realize that maybe we’ve overdone it. We’ve already emptied two bottles of wine. The table is cluttered with dishes. A pan-fried pork chop has been whittled down to a single remaining bite, streaked with the remnants of creamy grits. The monkfish, braised with artichokes and tomatoes, is long gone, as are the melted leeks topped with a poached egg (overcooked, sadly, but we devoured it anyway). There is still a hunk or two left to be extracted from that steak, though. It’s clear where this is headed. Continue reading