Truffles, Divans and Peench-yer-balls-an-all; Dinner Party A Big Success

 

So. It’s now early Saturday morning and after the big dinner party for Lloyd and Mike. I only got a couple hours sleep because I’m still all hyped-up over Lloyd’s visit and spending time with Mike and him and the other invited guests. I’d not met Mike before and I want to say here and now that Lloyd made a good match. I very much like Mike—dry wit, hard stand against stupid and a big heart.

Oh, and Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson asked me to say handsome as well. “Mooner, you inappropriate red neck fuckball, I know you’ll be blogging about this party. I want you to do two things. First, you make sure you say how handsome and photogenic Mike is as well as how sweet. Second, if you dare say one word about me trying to lose a pound before summer…”

Let me start by telling you who was there. Lloyd and his husband, Mike, Spike, Mark and Charlsa, Bruce, Gram, Mother, Aunt Hilda (and, of course Dubbie-J), Mr. Dave, Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson, the P-cubed, Squirt, Yoda and me. SAC Ellen got called away to supervise some emergency and so now she still hasn’t met Lloyd and Mike. OK, or Spike or Bruce, Charlsa or Mark either. SAC Ellen is our newest addition and knows the fewest.

Since full disclosure is my middle name, I want to say that I think I might have had impure motivations driving my thoughts about this party. I haven’t seen Lloyd in many years before last night, too many years in fact, and I think I wanted to relive my youth and feel young again. As much as I wanted to be with him to regain that solid connection we held long ago, I wanted to use Lloyd to help me turn the clock back.

I know I should feel selfish about that, and I might—maybe a touch.

Guests started arriving about 5:00, which was perfect. I’d managed to make enough trips back to the store to get everything I needed for the dinner. One of the things I needed was fruit and veggie cleaner. I wash everything with the citrus-based cleaner, even stuff from my own garden. The wash was the first of thirty items on my grocery list Thursday morning, first of twenty-two Thursday afternoon, and was first of ten for my initial trip Friday morning.

My variety of ADD enables me to take a grocery list of thirty items to the store, where I’ll purchase forty-six items, and arrive back to the house with twenty-two items on my list. OK, let’s be honest here. My variety of ADD allows me to need one simple item from the store—let’s say fruit and veggie cleaner for an example—wherein I head to the Whole Foods up to the Arboretum specifically to purchase the cleaner. I don’t need anything but the cleaner, still I take time to write a grocery list of one item on a Postie Note, and stick the Postie in my shirt pocket.

Since this will be the fifth fucking visit to the store with veggie cleaner on my list, I remove the list from my pocket a dozen times to read and remind myself why I’m headed to the store the fifth time. I get to Whole Foods, park, and my phone rings. It’s BJ calling to check in with me. He’s been missing in action for awhile and he called to catch up and let me know what’s been happening.

When I hang up from the call, I started thinking how much my feelings and senses of BJ mirror those I have for Lloyd. Two, way different backgrounds, completely different men, one I’ve known most of my life and one I recently met. Yet I share the same close affections for both. Each. Maybe I share the same affections for each.

I get out of my car and walk into the store. I always enter at the door by produce and they always have a display of whatever is hot and in-season right as you enter. It was Texas Ruby Reds, and they were my favorite style of reds. I favor citrus that are smallish, well shaped, and that have smooth skins. I find that thin-skinned and smooth citrus will be juicer and taste more like the fruit than if they have thick, deeply dimpled exteriors. Thick skin equals dry, pulpy citrus.

If you’ll select a grapefruit with thin, smooth skin that has a shape more like a good sweet onion than a globe, you’ll be a happy camper. And avoid any citrus that has a bell-shaped protrusion at its stem end, and holy shit have we digressed ourselves into the recycling bin.

As appetizers, we had guacamole with blue corn chips, a potted goat cheese that I bought already prepared, and a big slab of this Gorgonzola cheese that I love. I lay these out on the small table in the kitchen and had chairs and stools for seating. Lloyd and Mike hadn’t yet arrived so we were all getting to know each other and jerking towards the door whenever we heard a noise that might be our guests of honor.

Since I’m still processing the party in my thick skull, let me touch on the things not emotional. When everybody was there and all the intros and kisses and hugs enjoyed, I finished dinner prep and cooking. Everyone wanted to help and I let each help a little with something. I have always found that dinner tastes better when the guests have some part in the prep. Why that is will be one of the themes on my Postie Note list for my Monday psycho therapy session with Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson. That list has six items so far.

We had scalloped potatoes and a pork loin roast with sour cherry sauce as meat and starch. If I have a criticism of the meal it would be that some people don’t share my love of just-medium pork. Some folks want their pork cooked way well and I don’t think I had enough cooked way well done.

Then, we had chilled asparagus with prosciutto, parma cheese curls and aged balsamic. The aged vinegar is so thick you can chew it and it has the same sensibilities as truffles to me. Then, I made a simple lemon vinaigrette that I used to marinate some onions, then I wet some arrugula with that and put a fistful beside the asparagus on its plate. I like the sweet-sour relationship that adds to the salad side of things.

OK, stop. If you are squeamish or have delicate sensibilities, please skip the rest of this paragraph and move down to the next. I’ll place the potentially offensive parts inside brackets. Go, leave. Shew…… [Guys, whenever I taste a new ingredient that knocks my socks off, I always have the same thought. Like the first time I tasted truffle at this place in Washington DC where it was a central character in a plate of pasta. I eat my initial fork-swirled mouthful of homemade linguine with black truffle, and that musky, earthy flavor hit my brain, and I thought, “Holy shit would this taste great on pussy!” I have this same, precise thought every fucking time I first taste a new treat. Like with the balsamic and crème brulee. Oh, and caviar. Have you ever tasted caviar-slathered pussy? If you are a gay man or a woman, have you ever tasted a caviar-slathered pecker? Wait, a second thinking doesn’t pair peckers and fish eggs. But aged balsamic vinegar and peckers… Yum-yum!]

So all through dinner we’re talking a few old stories and telling each other about our lives—that light jousting dinner repartee enjoyed by people who like each other. It wasn’t until after dinner that we brought out the heavy guns of nostalgia.

“Hey, Lloydie,” Gram pipes up. “Tell ’em ’bout that one time ya got all fucked up with them divans and tha peench-yer-balls-an-all.”

Huh? , I’m thinking.

Everyone at the table, and I mean humans and dogs alike, look my way for a translation. Me, even I’m needing a moment’s cogitation for this one. I’m thinking to myself, I’m thinking, “divans and pinch-your-balls-and-all?”

Huh?, again.

“Oh, I got it,” I said after a few seconds. “Lloyd, Gram wants you to tell everybody about the time you had your wisdom teeth removed and you almost OD’d on the Darvon and phenobarbital the dentist gave you for the pain.”

Lloyd told that story. And we told more stories. For hours.

I just hit 1,400 fucking words so let me close this for now. In my head I had wanted to reclaim a little youth and I just might have done it. But I got something way more than that. Near the end of the night I realized that with all the dozens of stories told by everyone, not a single story was competitive—none of us tried to one-up another of us. Every story was either a memory of something endearing about one of the others, or it was a self-deprecating story of some major fuck-up.

What I got, my big present, was a night of human connections. Heart warming, soul mending connections. And now I’m leaking tears like a Jerry Springer guest.

I’ve lots more to tell you about this and I will. And holy shit! I forgot to make the lemon trifle recipe Mel sent me! Shit, shit and shit some more! Mel, Mel baby. I am so sorry.

Manana, yall.

 

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5 Responses to “Truffles, Divans and Peench-yer-balls-an-all; Dinner Party A Big Success”

  1. Pinch-your-balls-and-all sounds like a good cocktail. Maybe one involving Goldschlager and Champagne…

    And any dinner party involving Whole Foods is a notable party. I miss good grocery stores. Winco ain’t got shit on a Whole Foods or a Trader Joe’s!

  2. bj says:

    When you ‘Entertain’ …. you don’t spare any expense, do ya’ Bruh? Gorgonzola, asparagus, prosciutto and pussy flavored caviar are ALL my favs! and …. Kroger has yer Tejas Sweeties (also my favs!) on sale right now …… oh yeah … I also used to eat a buncha them “Di-Vans”, too, back in the day …… ‘member when they used to have that little pellet of anhydrous morphine inside the capsules? MMmmmmm ….Yummy Goodness …..

  3. admin says:

    Brandini. WinkO even sounds like a canned food store. Quality in, quality out.

    Beej. “Full service” is my middle name and well, it was actually the pussy that was caviar-flavored and trust me when I say that I know the difference. I remember that the Divans had a little something “extra” way back, and I also remember a dose pf peench-yer-balls-an-all that was yellow and white and the size of a Lil’ Smokie.

  4. chrisinphx says:

    There isnt a better way to spend an evening then with good food and good friends. Oh, and be sure to tell Mother congrats on not catching any of the gay lol

  5. admin says:

    Chris. I haven’t had a chance to disclose my mother’s reactions to the party yet. Stand by.

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