Eddie and I had a mission: get him lava cake on his day off. We chose Max Brenner's because of their self-proclaimed revolution in the confection. I even made a reservation which proved to be a good idea since the place packed up right after we got there. The hostess, obviously miserable in her job, handed us off to someone with menus and then we got to sit at a table that was small even by my standards. It took a good ten minutes for anyone on the wait staff to come over to us, but that proved to be a plus in our column. We went through the very very long menu and decided Dessert First, lunch for snack later.
The waitress was very good--apologized for no one coming over to us, very peppy, happy in her job unlike the hostess--and she took our order of water and a soda right away. Water and soda are apparently very difficult to make because that took another ten minutes. They were short-staffed for the holiday. How does that happen in a place of business? Don't you get more staff for a holiday? Anyway, when she brought our drinks, we ordered: lava cake for Eddie, though through the revolution, they do not call it a lava cake and call it something with a lot of words in it; strawberry hazelnut chocolate crepe for me, which could have been an entree or a dessert--some stuff on their menu seems to be both, the same way IHOP calls stuffed French toast breakfast instead of a heart attack in the making.
Not getting actual food was the best idea Eddie had because getting the two small items--cake and crepe--took a very very very long time. Maybe the crepe was being flown in from France! Ahhhh, gay Par-eeeeee.
Then suddenly, it was there. Eddie's cake came on a pedestal (or as some of my students would call it, a pedal stool. don't ask). The waitress presented it to him by pointing out his shaker of chocolate sauce and small sides of ice cream and a mini-cup of something with lots of whipped cream. Neither of us heard what it was because we were giggling over the pedestal. Then they put a large plate in front of me. The place was almost as big as the table. On it was a large crepe with strawberries. The waitress also pointed out a tiny beaker on my plate filled with my chocolate sauce. Another reason not getting lunch was a good idea: the food was colossal.
Bite by tiny bite, we devoured it all. We pondered, why do we need this extra chocolate sauce? He poured some on his cake. He poured some on his ice cream. I poured some on my crepe. We did not need this extra sauce and stopped pouring it on things. He dipped his cake in the whipped cream. I sipped from the whipped cream cup and informed him there was more than just cream in it (when the waitress came by to clear away the dishes, I asked her what it was: a small scoop of chocolate ice cream). He finished his cake, claiming it was larger than it looked. I almost finished my crepe. I could have finished the whole thing, but to make myself feel healthier, I stopped eating the folds of empty crepe and ate just the crepe with the strawberries. That means about three thin strips of crepe were left on my plate, which means it's healthy. Because I'd left something on my plate, I got to have some of his ice cream and mini drink.
Had it been warmer out, we would've walked back to Penn Station. Actually, we would've waddled. Eddie could have probably rolled me. But it was this cold:
So instead of walking, we quickly checked out the public art and headed back into the subway.
We are now part of the new chocolate culture taking over the world. One scoop, one crepe, one shot of whip at a time.
No comments:
Post a Comment