A jewel-like collation of sushi: a perfect way to kick off a Birthday Dinner.
Hordes of my Esteemed Readers with inquiring minds want to know: Just how did Elisson celebrate his birthday this past weekend?
[OK, so it was just one Esteemed Reader. Big fat hairy deal. But far be it from me to miss out on a chance to talk about Face-Feedage.]
She Who Must Be Obeyed had asked me some time back what I wanted to do on my Big Day. Night out? Big feed at restaurant? Disney World? Spa weekend? The possibilities were endless. But my desires being simple, all I wanted was Red Meat.
Steak. That’s the ticket. Nice prime rib-eye steaks. We’d throw a few on the grill and invite a few friends over. That’s way more congenial than sitting at a big table in some commercial eatery.
OK, agreed the Missus. But she insisted on doing all the cooking and making all the preparations herself, reluctantly conceding to me only those matters pertaining to the Beefy Entrée.
Let me tell you something: When my Better Half decides to do something, she is unstoppable. A force of nature. I stayed the hell out of the way and let her work her magic... and magic it was.
For beverages, our friend Laura Belle was in charge of the Margarita Machine, cranking out frozen ’ritas by the bucketful. Houston Steve and I chose an alternative beverage, just to be
Houston Steve enjoys a Pomegranate Pile Driver.
Yes - the infamous Pomegranate Pile Driver, the drink that gets you loaded and unloaded at the same time!™
By way of appetizers, SWMBO had ordered in a tray of sushi. Delightful.
There was a fine salad of mixed lettuces, artichoke hearts, asparagus, sun-dried tomatoes, roasted red peppers, toasted pine nuts, and dried currants in a honey-balsamic vinaigrette.
There were steamed haricots verts - skinny-ass French green beans.
There was a platter of roasted potatoes - sweet, red bliss, and Yukon Gold - done up in Tennessee ’Tater style. Yummy.
And there was the Red Meat. Prime rib-eye steaks, hand-carved and grilled by Yours Truly. Heartattackalicious!
Richly marbled red meat. Freshly carved, seasoned with pepper and kosher salt - and after a visit to the grill.
The festivities continued after we had eaten our fill. There was still the Ceremonial Birthday Cake to be dealt with. Fortunately or otherwise, I’m now at the stage in life at which it is impractical to festoon a cake with one candle for each year of my age. It’s simply too difficult to light ’em all - the intensity of the flame from all those candles tends to melt the cake, set off the fire alarm, overtax the air conditioner, and make the NSA nervous when orbiting monitors see the heat signature and mistakenly identify it as a nuclear detonation. So I got four candles, the flames of which were easy enough to dispatch in a single wheeze.
And then it was time to check out SWMBO’s gift, a gift that will make me the envy of every pimply adolescent in the neighborhood - along with quite a few Baby Boomers.
The Beatles Rock Band.
Now I can pretend to be one of the Beatles, banging away at the Fake Drums, shrieking vocals into a USB mike, or getting blisters on my fingers from playing the Fake Guitar. It’s big fun, and a great hit at our get-together as everyone sang along with the familiar tunes.
I guess I need to decide which Beatle I want to emulate.
George Harrison? Maybe, except he’s dead now.
John? Dead, too - and if he were still around, he’d have Yoko Ono to put up with. Yeef.
McCartney? Hmmm. The most successful songwriter of all time? Cool. And yet... vegetarian and animal rights activist, Linda Eastman, Heather Mills, Wings... Oy.
I guess I’ll just settle for being me. OK, having the Beatles’ money wouldn’t be too bad, but I’d rather have my friends, my children, and my beloved SWMBO. It’s getting better all the time!