Six Bites for $42

Posted on March 18th, 2007 by Christine.
Categories: True Story.

So occasionally I feel compelled to use our blog to sing Christopher’s praises because quite frankly, lately he’s really deserved it. The last couple months, Christopher has been sort of this “boyfriend extraordinaire,” and it’s kinda freaking me out. We’ve started to discuss moving in together, eventually getting married, and planning our futures. And while I’m excited about all this, I seem to be encountering moments where I’m completely petrified and overwhelmed by the thought of it all, which usually leads to a therapy session where I sit down and tell Christopher that I just don’t know how I feel about him, he tells me it’s okay, he’ll be patient and wait for me to be ready, and then I fall head over heels with him all over again. As if this weren’t trying enough of the boy’s nerves, he’s also decided to focus on doing things simply because they make me happy.

For example, Christopher HATES eating out. He would rather eat uncooked top ramen than pay $15 for a meal in a sit-down establishment. But… I like dressing up and doing my hair and sitting in a romantic restaurant across the table from him where I can sip wine by candlelight and enjoy food cooked by someone who is much better at cooking than I am.

So last weekend, Christopher decided to take me to my favorite restaurant. It’s very expensive and over an hour drive away from where we live. Excited, I made the reservation for 6:15.

Christopher picked me up at 5:00. Traffic was unbelievably bad. As we sat in stop-and-go on the 405, waiting to get onto the 101, he almost lost it with the soccer mom in the mini-van in front of us who didn’t realize she’d had her turn signal on for a half hour. Every time someone in the lane next to us would open a space to let her in, and then she didn’t move over, Christopher’s patience waned. But he handled it well, even though the only thing Christopher hates more than fine dining is L.A. traffic. Luckily, after he honked at her and made a shrugging motion with his hands and flicked his own turn signal on, the lady figured it out and turned her signal off. Christopher beamed as though he’d saved the world… and all the drivers in the lane next to us from having to wonder if this woman was ever going to change lanes or not.

Five minutes from the restaurant, the low gas light in Christopher’s car turns on. We’d used almost a quarter tank getting there.

We walk into the restaurant and are seated. We look at the menus. By this time, we are both very hungry. I order a glass of wine and the $38 lamb chop. Christopher, seeing the “game trio” of elk, quail, and buffalo, decides it’s probably the largest amount of food offered– confirmed by it’s most expensive price of $42– and decides to order that.

The bring us espresso cups filled with gazpacho. Christopher asks me what it is. I tell him it’s cold soup. He arches an eyebrow. Now a year ago, being faced with an espresso cup full of gazpacho would have launched Christopher into a diatribe about how stupid anyone would have to be to like cold soup. But not this time. He sips it. I can tell from his expression he doesn’t like it. “What do you think?” I ask, already knowing the answer. He scoots his little gazpacho cup across the table to me. “You can have mine if you want,” he says. And that was all he said about it.

When they bring us our plates, there is literally two tablespoons of mashed potatoes on his plate, two thin slices of elk, two thin slices of buffalo, and the smallest grilled bird I’d ever seen. Literally about six bites. I saw the disappointment register in his eyes as his shoulders slumped slightly. He looked up at me, something on the tip of his tongue, but he kept his comment to himself. He was bound and determined to let me enjoy this evening.

After consuming the elk, he started on the buffalo, and a moment later, it was gone too. That’s when he picked up the tiny little legs of the quail along with his knife and began to try to separate the meat from this anorexic little fowl off the bone.

He was done before I finished my first lamb chop, so I gave him a bite of mine, but Christopher’s not a big fan of lamb.

Then he ate the leftover crusts of bread on his bread plate. And the crumbs that had fallen onto the table cloth.

When the waitress comes back and asks us if we’d like to see the dessert menu, Christopher nods before she can finish the question. He lets me choose the dessert, which was, ultimately, a very, very thin slice of a macadamia nut chocolate tart and a little scoop of cappuccino ice cream.

Christopher picks up his fork and digs in. We discuss how the portions here are surprisingly small as we sip our miniature cups of coffee.

When the waitress drops the check, Christopher plunks down his credit card without a sideways glance. He pays the bill and we get up and walk out.

Christopher puts his hand on my back as we stand there and wait for the valet to bring the car. Not a moment has passed that I don’t understand that Christopher has just suffered through an evening that was totally for me, and not complained about a thing.

When we get into the car, the low gas light comes on, but Christopher looks relieved. I thank him for taking me out and he exhales a long, happy sigh. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, babe,” he says, and then…”And I’m glad to have that monkey off my back for another year.”

My brutally honest Christopher is back. I can’t help but smile at how lucky I am to have him. And how lucky I’d be to spend the rest of my life with my monkey-free boy. Well… at least for another year.

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