I’m at lunch today with my old boss Amedeo Rossi. The man of the hour, Mr. 80/35. We’re at HoQ, a “farm-to-table” restaurant in the East Village.
Our server comes over. What would you guys like? I say, I’ll have the lamb Gyro. Deo says, I’ll have the same.
C’mon, bro. We can’t get the same thing! Peeps be getting ideas about us.
The server says, you guys ok with the fries? I’m like, yeah, perfect, love the fries, but then Deo says, how about…could I get some salad?
Great. He pulls the old, I’m gonna eat something HEALTHY. I CAN’T EAT THE FRIES WHEN MY BRO BE EATING THE SALAD.
Dang it. Yeah get me the salad, too. Sheesh.
The salad comes, and, guess what?!? The salad be having BEETS in it. Homey don’t play that. Beets be super nast. I can’t even stand smelling beets, I’m out the door.
Deo, you want my beets?
He says, nah. I don’t like beets.
We eat. We talk. We’re like old grannies playing Bridge gossiping. Where dah men at?!?!
We finish the meal, our server comes over. You want some dessert? Dessert? Deo says, no thanks. I’m like, hell, yeah! I want CAKE. Bring two forks.
(Hm…is it ok for two heterosexual men to share a dessert? Fuk it. I don’t care.)
The dessert comes, and we dig in like piggies at a trough.
On my third bite, there’s a long hair in the dessert. I hold the fork aloft to Deo.
Deo grabs the hair delicately, tosses the hair to the ground.
I ask, understandably, do we finish it?
As MEN do in this situation, we MEN shrug our shoulders,
And dig back in.