Warning: This post contains tales of alcohol comsumption. Not mine, for I only had a couple of very weak white russians. But still, mom, I’m just sayin’ there’s drunken behavior in it. You’ve been warned.
As I mentioned previously, Louise and her boyfriend, Martin, came up for an impromptu visit. And boy was I excited to see a friend. Have I mentioned yet, today, I have no friends here? (Wil claims he doesn’t either, but then I wonder who those people who come over to play video games with him are. Tho, to be honest, I’ve only heard about them, never seen them. They only seem to appear when I am down in the states. ) I was happy to get out of the house and have some fun.
Martin is a guy who loves his alcohol. And once Wil discovered they had many things in common, a belief that beer should be room temperature for example, he decided tha the polite thing to do, as the host country, would be to love his alcohol right along side Martin. So as we would explore downtown Vancouver together, on a hunt for tshirts with pinup girls on them, we’d stop off in various pubs for beers and diet colas. (Louise and I were the diet cola drinkers) We were having a lovely time and enjoyed many fine stories. Including Martin’s stories of working for a very very rich man who owned a very ill mannered monkey named Elmo. Side note: no matter how much fun it may seem, a pet monkey is a bad idea.
Louise’s sole purpose in visiting Vancouver was to eat Chinese food at a particular Chinese restaurant, the name of which she could not remember. Seeing me was just a nice side bonus. And we looked and looked, but are pretty sure that where a Chinese food restaurant used to be, a Japanese food restaurant now sits. Not the same thing at all. We wondered around looking for somewhere else to eat and ended up in a Seafood and Chop house.
At first glance, it looked pretty casual, but it was actually very nice. We got a table on the garden terrace and it was lovely and well heated. Now, this is where things start to go down hill. For Wil. He was doing fine until he decided, that he would just have whatever it was his new drinking buddy was having. So, they both had double vodka tonics during their meals. Two of them. (I should have realized it was taking a turn for the worse at that point, Wil doesn’t like vodka) As the restaurant had a humidor on hand, they both smoked a nice cuban cigar before dinner which, apparently, can only truly be enjoyed with a glass of very top shelf scotch. Neat. And, if the waiter accidentally brings you a second serving of scotch, not knowing that a helpful coworker already brought the first round, might as well keep it, right? All before you get anything in your stomach.
When it came time to order, Martin ordered prime rib as rare as could be, and Wil went right along for the ride. But he didn’t eat much of it, although he loves prime rib. Since he was eating his mashed potatoes, yorkshire pudding and vegetables, I figured it had just become too difficult for him to handle two eating utensils at one time. Later he told me he doesn’t like rare beef, he’s more of a medium to medium well guy, and had no idea why he kept saying “me too!” after everything Martin ordered.
Here’s when I knew he’d truly had too much. First, he stuck almost an entire yorkshire pudding in his mouth at once, even though it was roughly the size of a cat’s head. Since he was facing away from the other diners, no harm was done. We just laughed at him. Secondly, Martin ordered oysters, six of them. Wil ate three. He hates seafood. And there is no way, under normal circumstances, he would eat an oyster. But he started eyeballing it like a little kid would eyeball a plate of cookies. I told him not to do it, but Martin egged him on and sure enough, he slurped one down. I asked him how they taste and he said like snot and then he ate two more! He said something about them being pretty and he couldn’t help himself. But if you ask me, he was probably just attracted to the tabasco on top. He likes spicy things.
Oh my poor sweet drunken Canadian bf. I blame Martin. Even though he SUPER generously paid for dinner. We owe them a very very very nice dinner. We had taken the skytrain into the city, but there was no way I was dragging him back home that way, we took a cab. He was happy and quite docile when I put him to bed. . It really was a fun evening. And Wil really enjoyed Martin and Louise. He remembered more than I thought he would. When I asked him how he felt the next morning he said “My mouth tastes like tonic, scotch and cigars. My mouth tastes like a dead hooker.” Which, I am pretty sure, qualifies as a successful evening, in Martin’s book.
