Zach and I have chosen to spend a quiet New Year holiday at home. I'm just beginning, after all, to relish having him back in town after he spent a week in Iowa. With most of our friends out-of-Seattle, and due to the fact that we generally are quiet folks, I simply haven't found attending a loud public celebration or rowdy party a particularly tempting means of ringing in 2006.
At the grocery store the other day, however, I made the spontaneous decision to purchase a few "upscale" items for consumption during the holiday weekend. Keep in mind that my definition of "upscale" lies on a slightly lower plain than most of the general population. When a friend once told me about a "nice restaurant" to eat at, my first assumption was: "Oh... can't wear a hoodie." Most of my friends and relations who really know me have adapted their definition of "upscale" to fit my own when speaking to me, so I don't assume eating an "upscale" meal will consist of pizza at a flannel-rather-than-hoodie establishment, and end up instead at a suit-and-tie-required French cafe where the portions are smaller than my fist and the check exceeds my credit limit.
This "upscale" upgrade was largely catalyzed by the friends who hosted me for Christmas day. Sure, they know me and like me - and I believe, like most, they're pleasantly baffled by, though ultimately accepting of, my "uncultured" soul. But, I was both delighted and mesmerized by some of the more simple matters of the day: olives, pickled garlic cloves, champagne.
Sure, I've had two of the three before (the pickled-and-herbed garlic cloves were new to me). But, this was beyond "upscale" - more like so-far-upscale-that-I'd-have-to-add-another-lobe-to-my-brain-to-comprehend-it. It was terrific... and, I thought, what better way to ring in the New Year holiday with Zach? Well, sure, I'm willing to bet the farm that you could think of a better way to ring in the New Year - but this isn't your fantasy.
I wasn't going to do much... Zach had already decided to cook some sort of fantastic dinner. I was just going to provide a few "upscale" hors d'oeuvres. Of course, not the so-far-upscale-that-I'd-have-to-add-another-lobe-to-my-brain-to-comprehend-it type of hors d'oeuvre. I had to downscale the upscaleness until it reached my definition of "upscale." For example, the oh-so-expensive thirteen-year-old champagne would have to be downgraded to a grocery-store everyday variety.
Simplepimple, I figured. Get a few things, not quite at the level I enjoyed on Christmas, but "upscale" by my experiences.
You'd be amazed how difficult it is to buy olives, though. Granted, I wasn't willing to level with the deli clerk at Pike Place Market and tell him that I had no idea what I was doing. I chose a variety at random (who knew there were different types of olives other than green, black, or Kalamata?).
Deli Clerk: "How much?"
Me: "Uh... Er... a pound?"
Deli Clerk: "A pound?"
Me, suddenly confident: "Of course!"
Deli Clerk, holding up a container as big as my head: "A pound would fill this."
Zach, over my shoulder: "Wow. That's a lot of olives."
Me: "Oh..."
pause
Me: "Er... did I say 'a pound'? I meant a half pound obviously."
Deli Clerk, now holding up a much smaller container, roughly the size of my fist: "This would be a half pound."
Me: "Oh, yes. Silly me - I must've misspoken."
Deli Clerk: "Uh-huh."
Me: "My mind must've wandered or something."
Deli Clerk: "Sure. Whatever."
Who knew being "upscale" required such rocksolid acting skills? In graduate classes, I've noticed a few folks who always attempt to make drawn-out-and-grandiose comments in class, but who know only a little bit more than I do (which, keep in mind, isn't much). I admire their skills to put-on-airs. I usually sit stone-faced and silent through class, knowing that any attempt to pretend that I know any more than I actually do would probably end in a pants-pissing episode that probably wouldn't get me any closer to a Ph.D. in molecular and cellular biology. Since sitting stone-faced in class has the added advantage of urine-free pants while keeping me just as close to a Ph.D. in molecular and cellular biology, I've chosen to keep my trap shut and avoid all opportunities or temptations to put-on-airs.
In fact, even if I could avoid peeing my pants, I'm pretty sure we can all now agree on what I kind of crop I would reap after sowing seeds that attempt to project more knowledge than I possess: A POUND OF OLIVES.
When I tried to get champagne, I encountered a slightly-less-embarrassing-but-just-as-frustrating issue: who knew there were different types of champagne?! Blanc de blancs?! Blanc de noirs?! What on Earth?! I wasn't willing to end up with a pound of olives this time. In the end, I decided that the most prudent course of action would entail
1. closing my eyes
2. pointing to the shelf of champagne at random to make my selection.
When my first attempt at this foolhardy scheme ended with the selection of a $35.00 bottle, I decided to try again, this time eliminating the top shelves, which contained more "upscale upscale" items. A more reasonably-priced selection was thankfully made on my second attempt, which I purchased.
In the car, I realized I've no idea how to open a bottle of champagne. Based on TV, it looks like I'll put an eye out in the process.
The remaining items - herbed garlic cloves, wine, pickled okra, etc. - were a cake walk to select and purchase compared to "blanc de noirs" or a freaking pound of olives. Here's hoping they're easy to open with one eye.
Posted by James at December 29, 2005 10:31 PM
