Jeremy's Weblog

I recently graduated from Harvard Law School. This is my weblog. It tries to be funny. E-mail me if you like it. For an index of what's lurking in the archives, sorted by category, click here.

Tuesday, June 08, 2004

More about lunches, because that's my favorite topic lately. So, like I've said, every morning at about 10:30, we start to get a barrage of e-mails on the summer associate list. "2 spots left for lunch at Pan-Asian Bistro Grill. First to reply get it." Eight to twelve seconds later: "Lunch full." "1 spot for lunch with Litigation associates at Fusion Gardens. Preference to those I haven't had lunch with yet." Eight to twelve seconds later: "I've received 31 replies, but Carol's came before I even pushed send, so she gets it. Sorry!" "Might have two spots left for a lunch I'm putting together at Genetically Modified Fish Spa this afternoon. Preference to those with killer smiles." Eight to twelve seconds later: "One more spot has opened up. Preference to those not wearing socks." Eight to twelve seconds later: "Changed my mind. Preference to those who don't smell like cheese." Eight to twelve seconds later: "No, actually, you do smell like cheese." Eight to twelve seconds later: "Sorry, I meant that just to go to Jim, not the whole list." Eight to twelve seconds later: "Lunch full. For now. Ha ha ha."

Just getting into a lunch has become the game of the day. But once you're there.... I've figured out two things:

(1) Expensive food loses its ethnicity above a certain point. Everything becomes fusion no matter where it starts. "Miso-glazed salmon" is simultaneously high-end French, Chinese, American, Japanese, German, Swiss, and Ethiopian. "Lobster-glazed pork," unbelievably, becomes kosher if priced above $26. As prices go up, food becomes younger. Baby greens, baby octopus, baby lamb chops, baby veal, and baby pudding. I'm kidding about the baby pudding. So far. And dessert is the best part of every meal, even if "exotic Asian fruit tower" turned out to be apple pie, and "honeydew granita" turned out to be green-colored italian ices. At one restaurant, the waitress describing the dessert almost strained the bounds of credibility: "The chocolate-mocha layer cake is quite extraordinary. It's a layer of chocolate," she said, tracing a layer in the air with her finger, "followed by a layer of mocha, then a layer of chocolate, and a layer of mocha, and a layer of chocolate, and a layer of mocha, and a layer of chocolate, and a layer of mocha--" I was getting the drift. How many layers were in this cake? "--and a layer of chocolate, and a layer of mocha, and a layer of chocolate--" This is why these are three-hour lunches. She's still describing the dessert.

(2) Too much food. I go out to one of these lunches and four days later I'm still full, still digesting the baby tuna steaks with the baby asparagus and the baby cheesecake. I can't eat dinner, I can't eat breakfast... until someone offers to pay for those meals, too. And I come back to the office and I'm ready for a nap. Like a baby. Octopus. Grilled atop a wild mushroom ragout with baby field greens dressed in balsamic vinegar and pine nuts with a side of crisped leek and smoked kale and braised plum and seared shark and chewed steak. And some homemade verisimilitudes and a side of slurvy.