Last night, I got wasted with my boss at some fancy restaurant in DUMBO that only had, like, three things on the menu. It was one of those places that had a 10-page cocktail menu but when it came to actual food, my options were this: a certain kind of fish, beef tongue, chicken breast, and some type of meat I had never heard of in my life. I, of course, opted to get the chicken breast because it was a safe and reliable choice, but to my horror, the waiter told me they had just run out! (Who runs out of chicken, by the way? How do you just run out of that?) Confused and drunk, I stuttered, “Um, well, okay. What are the other options again?”
He ran through the aforementioned items on the menu and when he got to the kind of meat I had never heard of before, I asked him what the hell it was.
“Um, it’s pigeon.”
“What?” I exclaimed, nearly knocking over my wine glass.
Call me a Simple Sally but I had never heard of pigeon being served at a restaurant before. Is this some new bullshit food trend where pigeon is considered a delicacy? Pigeons are sick. They poop on people’s heads! #NotClearOn us wanting to eat them now, other than for sick, revenge purposes.
“Well, what does it taste like?”
“Um, it’s good. It’s pretty game-y.”
Ugh, game-y? GAME OVER. I can’t do game-y. Game-y meat is sick. But, hello, I didn’t want fish and I wasn’t stoked on trying beef tongue. What the hell was I going to do?! (It sounds like a ridiculous problem but when you’re wasted and don’t like anything on the menu, it feels like a major issue.)
My boss nudged me and said, “You should get pigeon.”
“What? No! Why?”
“It’s good. I like pigeon.”
Jesus, have people been eating pigeon on the DL all this time?! THEY ARE SO CRAZY. I can just see them rolling up to restaurants in their sunglasses and being like, “It’s pigeon time, bitch. Get ready.”
I don’t usually listen to anything my boss has to say but this time, for some inexplicable reason, I trusted him and told the waiter I wanted pigeon.
“It’s going to suck,” I hissed at him across the table. “I hate you. You better give me a bite of your beef tongue.”
“You’ll love it. Seriously.”
Then I went back to doing what I do best which is drinking white wine and waiting for food. It ended up taking forever so by the time it actually arrived, I didn’t even think to proceed with caution. I dove into that pigeon like it was chicken.
Big mistake. The second it entered my mouth, I immediately was like, “Dear god, this is a case of YOLO gone horribly wrong.”
It tasted disgusting. Since it was a bougie restaurant, the portion was tiny, I only got like a quarter of a pigeon on my plate, but it was still difficult for me to choke down. Every time I would take a bite, I would have to take four gulps of white wine just to deal with the rubbery texture and bizarre taste. Lesson learned: Not everything tastes like chicken, especially if it’s a goddamn pigeon.
2. Food that I’ve dropped on the ground
Across from my favorite gay bar in Brooklyn is a fantastic bagel place, which I’ll often stumble into after a night of drinking to shame-eat. A few months ago, I was about to bite into this delicious bagel when, all of a sudden, I lost control of my grip and the bagel fell on the sidewalk. My first instinct was to scream and cry but I resisted because I’M A LADY. Instead, I looked around to see if anyone could see me and then scooped it right up from the dirty sidewalk. I’m usually a psycho about my food being contaminated but I didn’t care at this point. Mama just needed to put something in her mouth and since the gay bar was a wash that night, a dirty bagel had to suffice! (And, yes, I call myself Mama but only when it feels right emotionally, spiritually, and physically.)
3. My roommate’s food
Indeed, I’m that asshole who gets drunk and eats their roommate’s leftovers. I am not proud of the things I’ve done but, look, what do you expect from me? I don’t cook and I live with a twenty-something Rachael Ray. The only thing I keep in the fridge is water and pills, so when I come home looking for a fourth meal, I’m shit out of luck! My eyes scan the contents of our fridge and I see no food that’s mine. Then I focus in on a plate of delicious looking leftovers that belong to my roommate and go for the gold! I dig into it over the sink, all the while hoping and praying my roommate doesn’t wake up and catch us mid-coitus. The last time I ate her food was a few days ago and I broke the news to her by calling her up and telling her that our apartment was robbed.
“What?!” she screamed over the phone. “WE WERE ROBBED?”
“Yes,” I said, trying my best to sound devastated. “But it’s the weirdest thing. The only thing the robbers took was your leftover pasta. Aren’t we so blessed?”
I thought it was a funny joke but my roommate was annoyed. I took her out to a Rich Mom dinner the next day as penance for my sins.
I have a lot of anxiety about my asshole. Like, I’m aware that it’s a #dark place and I don’t want to have to subject anyone who’s not my proctologist to it. I, on the other hand, am totally okay with other people’s assholes and have no issue with engaging in a rimjob situation. What I don’t like, however, is when I’m doing it whilst wasted. The whole thing is just sloppy. I’m sloppy, the asshole is sloppy. It’s not a good look for me or the asshole. In the future, it’s best not to get an E.A.U.I.: Eating Ass Under The Influence. (Ew, I’m sick and going to stop now.)