Can't take me anywhere

This is purely vanilla, but amusing. I hope, anyway.

So last week, I had lunch with my cousin (the famous one) and a dear friend (also famous). Unfortunately, I can't name either one of them, although my friend knows both Ericas (Scott and [realname]). She's worked with both my father and my cousin, so we have that connection. She's not kinked, but she's kink-friendly.

Anyway, my cousin had invited us both out to lunch, and we were informed by his assistant that we were meeting at a restaurant in Beverly Hills. I Googled it, and it turned out to be a popular French bistro. You know the type -- pretentious food, small portions and not-small prices.

I confess right here, I am not a foodie. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Don't get me wrong; I like good food, well-prepared food. But I like simple food. I'm not into sauces, reductions and emulsions. When I think of a turkey sandwich, I think turkey, lettuce, tomato and mustard on whole-wheat bread. Not smoked turkey breast, cranberry chutney and arugula on brioche. Same thing with pizza. I almost never eat it, but when I do, it's plain mozzarella cheese and plenty of tomato sauce on a chewy slice I can fold. Not artisan flatbread with goat cheese, heirloom tomato confit and a smattering of truffles.

The place was gorgeous, I have to say. The hostess and servers were charming. ("Sparkling water, or tap?" our server cheerily asked me. She made tap water sound like she'd be pumping it out of the garden hose.) I glanced at the menu and nearly choked on my hose water at the prices.

I wondered what kind of bread they'd bring. I figured in a place like this, we'd get a fancy basket with an assortment of bakery breads and rolls. So I was quite surprised when the server laid what looked like a twisted branch directly on the tablecloth; no basket, no plates. Turned out it was a pull-apart strand of individual sourdough bread knots.

When my friend arrived and we'd hugged and sat back down, I plucked the bread off the table and held it aloft. "What the hell is this?" I asked. "They put the bread right on the table in this chi-chi place?"

She looked at it and quipped, "It looks like a dildo." I almost fell out of my chair. She then went one better and pulled her camera out of her purse.

So here I am, in this fancy-schmancy restaurant, leering at the dildo bread:

Fortunately, she took two shots. The first one had our server in the background, looking at us and laughing. Yup, we be classy.

Hope everyone had a good weekend. I'm playing tomorrow -- YES!!