That is until I meet up with Chrissy, someone I went to university with many years ago. We always get together when I am visiting Johannesburg .
We ‘did' lunch’ in a fabulous restaurant called BIG MOUTH in Sandton on THE square.
It’s an excellent name as it describes accurately what UP and COMING’ people in fashionable cities most commonly do………..SHOUT about how important, rich, powerful, fashionable, amazing…….they are.
I am thoroughly entertained. My tiny home town local coffee shop where the food is unremarkable and the service is erratic, pales into non existence.
At Big,Mouth there is almost a holy reverence as Chrissy, my companion, discusses the merits of the items on the menu. The manner of preparation (the wood fired oven heats to 500 degrees and the chicken and steak are done to perfection in minutes!) the added pinch of this herb and a whisper of that brandy are gravely discussed.
I am enthralled…….it’s like the orchestra tuning up before the symphony concert begins………..lots of squawks and screeches before the main, beautiful thing actually is presented.
I salivate as the sushi is described in detail and then Chrissy says to the attractive, apron wrapped around her middle twice, waitress, ‘ and we’d like the prawns ‘pimped’.’
My eyes startle out of my head at the word and the waitress’s bulge a little too, but she repeats the word smoothly as she takes the order for Rock Shrimp Tempura, meticulously.
Chrissy notes the fraction of hesitation and asks, ’is Trey on duty today?’ this casual intimacy with a chef is like talking in ‘elite company’ about MY specialist, whether it be medical, financial, psychological or culinary. It is so pseudo ‘upper class’ I could slit my throat.
‘Yes he is ma’m,’ she replies smoothly.
‘Well just ask…..Trey, he’ll know exactly what I want,’ and she rewards her with a dazzling smile…….or so Chrissy thinks….. (I catch the merest suggestion of an eye roll on the waitress’s neutral face.)
‘Will do ma’m,’ she responds and sure enough within a few minutes Chrissy waves her manicured hand in the direction of a young man wearing a sushi chef’s hat. The waitress smiles too…………she knows the drill for a good tip.
The starter arrives.
It is a piping hot pile of green short things, fashionably blackened with some dark 'goo' on top.
‘My latest thing is, I read the tip in Vouge,’ Chrissy confides, ‘is making a point of ordering something on the menu I’ve never heard of before. These soyabeans in a delicate teriyaki sauce are my latest thing..... abs div dahling!’
She puts the pod in between her pearly white, perfectly corrected teeth and disgustingly drags it backwards out of her mouth. The beans remain in her mouth and she chews them with such joy (eyes shut in ecstasy of the moment) that I copy her exactly. I so enjoy the experience of being able to behave badly in public, that I help her polish off the entrée quite rapidly.
Naturally a finger bowl, lemon slice floating, appears magically as the stripped pods are smoothly removed.
I wonder idly if she would try the latest dried Cicada beetles crisped to perfection if they should appear on the menu.
I compose my face and listen to her ‘amazing trip planned for the spring ,’round Croatia dahling, private chef to cater to our every whim, of course......and you know how fussy Bertie is!’ ............Bertram is her elderly, vastly wealthy husband.
The sushi arrives and I drool at perfection on a plate.
Pixabay
Trey has managed to make each mouthful a taste sensation and I fall in love with him for that brief hour.
The California rolls with prawn and avocado in the centre are a culinary delight.
On top of each one is a big, fat, tempura battered prawn lightly fried.
My eyes roll in pleasure at the contrast of crisp and soft textures and subtle mouth tingling flavours.
Chrissy is also enjoying the food but I see her eyes scanning the room to see who is there, seeing her there.
She flips her hair a little too seductively for just an old ‘varsity’ friend from way back and I notice a young man acknowledge her with a casual dip of his head. A secret message going on there I think.
That brings to mind the word ‘pimped’ somehow and I ask her between succulent bites, ‘so what is the ‘pimp’ part of this prawn?’
‘Oh,’ she replies languorously, threading a blonde curl through her, washed in the finger bowl with lemon, fingers, ‘it’s the red caviar on top with those exquisite little crispy sprinkles,’
She breathes ecstatically, glancing once more to where the young man sits,
’to die for dahling.’