johnsonboy

Last night: another bar encounter, which went nowhere. She asked me about my last column, and as i began to explain she lost interest. OK, maybe I'm boring. She seemed really friendly at first, though. But she was just there to drink. Which is what I did as well.
A guy from school was asking me about writing.
The class didn't like his story, and he wanted to know why. But he didn't really want to know. He actually wanted me to tell him it was too deep for them.
I don't know why I even go into bars.
I'm no good at small talk and I hate trying to talk over a jukebox.
It's so much nicer to drink and smoke with a few people with music in the background.
I think I'm bemused and nonplussed at the same time. with a touch of ennui.
What I really want to do is make a big pot of soup, with a rich golden broth and unexpected begetables in it, like asparagus, or wild plants.
Homemade rolls stuffed with ostreatus and ricotta cheese. Trust me on this one.
A salad picked fresh from the garden which I don't have.
For the main course. either abalone baked whole with soy sauce and wine, and some lemon/garlicky glaze. Or a grilled salmon fillet with soy/mustard glaze. Either one would do.
For dessert: blackberry pie, vanilla ice cream.
Then brandy.

Last year there was a rich woman, the dragon lady, who used to cook me gourmet meals and serve expensive wine. She made things like soft-boiled quail eggs with caviar, and who knows what-all, as long as it was expensive. She'd keep me up until late, offering absinthe, cocktails, port, etc. She always had a ton of weed around the house.
I don't know what I was to her, a kind of trinket I suppose. In the end, she was so overbearing I had to say something.
it was pretty innocuous but she took offense.
Haven't seen her since. Don't miss her. But the food was good.
No, there was no sex involved. I'm not that kind of guy.