I went out to dinner a while back at a restaurant I had no business going to. The food would have probably cost 30 dollars an entrée if it were located in the United States. So why would I venture to this patrician establishment you may ask? The answer is simple: Watermelon soup.
If you have never heard the legend of watermelon soup, you are in the exact same boat as me. There is likely no legend of watermelon soup. Still, as THE soup boy, I felt as if a cosmic wind had caught my sail shaped soul and suddenly I had set up plans to go. So here I was, the meme of a human being you all know, with a nice women, in a nice restaurant. The waiter strides over, obviously confused as to why I didn’t shave or have even a basic understanding of manners, and asked what our table would like for dinner.
You guessed correctly; I ordered water. Upon ordering I almost peed my pants because I felt like my voice was a disturbance in some culinary heaven, and I was sure that if there was a God I had finally crossed the line between harmless sinner and debaucherous heathen. Shortly after this it was clear me and my accomplice in this culinary heist were the only people under 30, without nice jobs, and (at least on my part) lacking retirement funds. It would be an understatement to say I felt awkward here. I could feel my awkward feeling awkward, and I was trying my hardest not to personify any farther down.
The real kicker: Watermelon soup went out of season only a week before I came.
Skip to the food arriving (I will skip the bread, please forgive me, but it is necessary. If it helps, it receives high marks. )
First was the complimentary appetizer. It came in a small bowl and looked avant-garde even for a guy who has watched all of Chefs Table. In hind sight, seeing as how no other table had gotten a complimentary appetizer, I think the waiter just wanted to watch my brain explode. It was amazing, like nothing I had ever eaten. The most astonishing part was instead of devouring the dish, I couldn’t help but stop in awe after each bit and appreciate all the flavor it had to offer.
Of course, this was just the beginning. Next came the actual entrée, roasted duck covered in plum sauce with water chestnuts, white carrot, apricot, with dollops of chocolate and vanilla scattered through out the plate. It would be an abuse of an old phrase to say the duck melted in my mouth, so I’ll try a new metaphor; I could have drank the duck through a straw. Never in my life had I tasted meat so tender; it was slightly repulsive at first, how the duck would turn into a pudding like substance after just pressing my tongue against it. Every vegetable on the plate also had its own distinct and wonderful flavor, but what was more impressive was the way each piece of food on the plate complimented one another. Mix any two options and the flavor increased exponentially.
After 30 minutes of utter silence and slowly chewing food on the verge of tears my date recommended we get dessert. I almost declined; I thought nothing could taste better than what I had just experienced. I cannot describe the flavors of the dessert, instead I will only include a picture. It was, by leaps and bounds, the most amazing tasting plate of food I have ever had in my life. It was sponge cake, with various sorts of chocolate and fruit purees and so much more.
No poem this time around.
I’ll try for two next post.