The Good News: They can be bribed with summer sausage

It is May 7, one day after my day of days, my birthday, and 1 day after the 20th day of the rest of my life.  I am contemplating myself and all my various components.  My never ending battle with food of course is foremost on my mind.  Last night, I had an absolutely exquisite dinner.  Jerry took me to a fabulous place -- I have a dear friend who delights in telling me constantly that my unabashed use of words like "exquisite," "fabulous" and "delight" makes me gay.  It couldn't be further from the truth.  Language, words and yes even sentence structure do not make me gay -- having sex with another man makes me gay.  So, once and for all, Jim, let's put that crazy theory to rest, for God's sake.  Anyway, Jerry took  me to a way cool place -- Alain Ducasse's Adour at the St. Regis Hotel in Washington DC.  At the corner of 16th Street and Connecticut Avenue, its location is the very intersection of high-priced real estate and world power.  The hotel lies in the core of Washington DC's central business district and has hosted both celebrities and dignitaries, presidents and prime ministers -- and now Lew and Jerry.  The hotel's structure was built in 1926 as another hotel (funny how that works -- 1st it was a hotel and now it's a hotel) by one of the foremost architects of his time and his name is absolutely unpronouncable (please don't tell anyone but I think the guy might have been a Muslim).  But thank God he designed this place, and thank God even more that the building survived the 1970's without being covered in Abitibi panelling, lime green shag carpets and portraits of Donny & Marie.  It underwent an extensive renovation in 2008 during which time it was closed for business for about a year and a half (I understand the same thing happened to Tori Spelling).

Anyway, back to Alain Ducasse's Adour at the St. Regis Hotel in Washington DC.  The dining room is stunning (don't go there, Jim).  The original 1926 ceiling is still in place with its carved wood timbers and Moroccan-inspired decoration.  See how those Muslims ever so subtly try to pursue world domination?  Even in hotel ceilings -- seriously, Western civilization stands no chance.  I mean, would we ever think of prosletizing in a ceiling -- Voice of America is simply no competition.  The rest of the dining room at Alain Ducasse's Adour at the St. Regis Hotel in Washington DC is brand spanking new -- chrome tables and chairs covered in the softest, warmest, finest white leather I have ever seen.  Could it be Corinthian leather?  Perhaps.  The table tops are covered in something that looks like mother of pearl and then clear-coated so the greasy droppings from your mouth do not unintentionally stain its beauty and finish.  Huge walk-in wine cellars flank the dining room and are housed in floor to ceiling, side to side glass with a mirror-finish chrome superstructure.  The sconces on the wall are also mirror-finish chrome and can only be said to look like some sort of sea anemone in full sexual flower.  The end result is this beautiful old world, vaguely Muslim out-of-this-world ceiling, punctuated with sparkling, gleaming, shiny rays of light.  Brilliant.  Really.  Beautiful.  And the food matched the surroundings. 

As an appetizer, I had some sort of foie gras deli sandwich -- one strip of bad ass duck liver sandwiched between a thin row of Amish chicken meat.  While I was savoring this food of the Gods, I pictured those  devout little chickens, one minute riding in quaint but frustratingly slow black horse-drawn carriages, wearing unflattering hats and starched dresses with little blue flowers on them -- the next minute, huddling on my plate waiting for the big bite.  They tasted good, dude.  My main course was halibut and asparagus.  Asparagus spears, poached to perfection.  Asparagus jus, thick and rich.  Asparagus froth, light and fluffy but still asparagus and therefore ultra hip.  Little asparagus droppings placed in concentric circles around the outside of the made-in-Italy white shiny plates.  It was great.  For dessert, I had something poached -- yes, again, this food item was poached, just like the asparagus and there were other poached items on the menu too.  Alain Ducasse's Adour at the St. Regis Hotel in Washington DC makes a big deal about poaching food.  I once read that Muslims use to poach Christians they caught during the Crusades -- did you ever read that?  Anyway, this poached thing I was eating was rhubarb with milk ice cream and a completely separate rectangle thing of pastry filled with cream.  It was wonderful and a great celebration of the day I was born so many years ago.  Both the food and I were on cloud 9.  Jerry paid the bill of course and we both thanked Marisa, our cute waitress who looked a little like Julianne Moore, as we left this Muslim stronghold.

I was so full.  One more bite and my underwear would have cut off the circulation to my legs.  That did not, however, stop me from eating 7 bites of kritharaki I had made the night before with chicken broth, sauteed onions and grated cheese.  This kritharaki (it's like orzo pasta but Greek so therefore much, much better) had been fantastic and I, as Jerry and I walked home from Alain Ducasse's Adour at the St. Regis Hotel in Washington DC, could not stop thinking about how good my kritharaki was.  So, when we got home and thankfully Jerry fell asleep like the drunk periodontist he was right then, I put on my slippers and tippy toed to the kitchen.  Only after I had consumed those additional 7 bites of kritharaki and was so stupidly full that I felt slightly sick to my stomach could I fall asleep, comfortable with the knowledge that I had eaten some of the best food in my life -- and also some food from Alain Ducasse's Adour at the St. Regis Hotel in downtown Washington DC.

Drifting to sleep with HGTV's House Hunters International on -- please, no, not show that episode about that blindingly blond girl from Park City Utah moving to Turin Italy again -- honestly, who is she sleeping with to get so many repeats? -- I could only think of one thing -- Osama bin Ladin is kind of hot.  I mean strip away his evil nature and his intense and unprovoked hatred of Americans and his dastardly mastermind machinations in the unforgivable killing of so many innocent people around the world, and -- oh yeh -- that really nasty Beverly Hillbilly beard that he dyes to hide the gray -- he was nothing more than a tall (between 6'4" and 6'6" I read -- that's tall and, as I always say, tall is good), fit, lean, dark, pouty-lipped, swarthy Mediterranean cutie patootie with dreamy eyes.  What's not to like?  Okay, okay -- maybe that nun habit thing on his head and those dirty looking robes that must smell underneath.  But, really, lose the Islamaphobic bias and look at the man behind the religion and, seriously, face the facts.  Osama bin Ladin is hot.  Dead, yes.  But also hot.