Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [86]
"You tryin' to get me drunk, Al?" asked Tommy with a crooked smile. " 'Cause I'm a quiet drunk. I'm a sentimental drunk. Some people, other guys, they're loud drunks, they wanna tell you their life story, get in a fight, tell everybody what's wrong with the world. Me, I get quiet, I get philosophical. I get sentimental when I'm drunk. You tryin' to get me drunk, Al? Is that what you're doin'?"
"Maybe a little bit," said Al, raising his beer bottle in a mock toast, then taking a drink from it.
"I'm more than a little bit drunk," said Tommy.
"You got a girlfriend, Tommy?" asked Al.
"Kind of," said Tommy.
"Somebody from work?"
"Yeah. Somebody from work. You prolly know that already, right? Like you know where I eat my breakfast. From twistin' the chef's nuts. You prolly know all about it."
"Yeah," said Al with an apologetic smile. "I gotta admit, you're right about that. She's a pretty girl. What's her name again?"
"Cheryl. Her name's Cheryl," Tommy tried to sit up straight. "You know her name. Don't play with me. It's not nice."
"Sorry," said Al. "Just tryin' to establish rapport here. Next, I'm supposed to tell you about my wife or my family, you know, commiserate a little. I guess you don't want to hear about that."
"No, no," said Tommy eagerly, seemingly happy to change tack. "I'd like that. Tell me about your wife. Does she cook?"
"Sure she cooks," said Al.
"Yeah? What does she cook?" asked Tommy, slurring his words now. "What does she cook when it's like your birthday, special occasion, and she really wants to lay it on right for you? It's gotta be . . . there's gotta be one thing she makes for that, right? One thing she does real good. Something special. With my mom, it was veal saltimbocca. She'd go down to the store and bitch at the guy till she got the right piece of veal, fight over the price, then she'd come home and pound the shit outta that veal with this mallet she had . . . I guess it wasn't that good, to be honest. I seen a lot of veal saltimbocca since then. But I loved it. I still love it. Moms are like that. They get themselves a small repertoire of things they think they do real well and then they do it over and over."
"Roast beef," said Al.
"Roast beef?" said Tommy with a grin.
"Yeah. Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding," said Al. "First time she got that Yorkshire to rise up in the pan right, and stay up, she was so happy. Now she's a pro at it. Makes a sauce, a gravy, to go with it. Outtasight."
"Lumps?"
"What do you mean?"
"The gravy. It's gotta have lumps you eat gravy at home. No good without the lumps. It's like mashed potatoes, you gotta have the lumps or people think you're back there mixin' up Instant Potato Buds or something, some shit like that. Gotta have those lumps. So what does she make for dessert? After the roast beef?"
Al blushed slightly and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"C'mon, Al," Tommy persisted, "What does she make for dessert?"
"She makes Jell-O. With fruit in it," said Al.
Tommy laughed out loud. Al looked even more uncomfortable.
"The red stuff or the green stuff?" asked Tommy, still laughing, tears running down his cheeks.
"The red," grumbled Al.
"With what?" Tommy pressed on. "With what kind of fruit? Sliced bananas?"
"Fruit cocktail," said Al. "Del Monte can a fruit cocktail you gotta know. Laugh if you fuckin' want. I love it."
"I know what you mean," laughed Tommy, struggling to regain his composure. "I know what you mean. I love it, too."
Al called for the check. It arrived a few moments later in a leatherbound book on a silver tray. Al took out a credit card. The waiter took the card and returned.
"How much I give this frog-swallower for a tip?" asked Al.
"Straight