In other news: fecal trumps polenta.
Fecal Trumps Polenta
Sunday, we spent the afternoon exploring Healdsburg, a little town south of us with our new friend Jaime. It was quaint and charming, and packed with good coffee, wine, and expensive clothes shops. We went to dinner at a fancy restaurant. A very expensive and fancy restaurant. The kind of place that we cannot truly afford these days, but find ourselves at more often than is advisable. The kind of place where you boldly order a glass of Rosé without realizing it is $20 per glass.
I ordered lamb. The dish was a “duo” of shoulder and a lamb chop. Lamb is my safe dish. We had it served at the wedding, we order it all the time. I have never had a lamb dish I didn’t like. Until Sunday night. I tried to give it a chance, but something tasted off about it. I gave a bite to Keith, and he almost spit it out. “This tastes…fecal,” he says. FECAL. And it kind of did. It tasted fecal. Jaime tasted it and suggested they be a little more descriptive in the menu. “Lamb a la Skidmark” or “Lamb Dookie Duo” or “Fecal Encrusted Lamb”.
The wait staff was very apologetic and took it back and tried to get me to order something else, but I was done eating for the day. I bravely polished off our $80 dollar bottle of wine, and then did the math for our bill by hand. I’m just full of questionable choices these days.