Thought for Food

So about that meal. M.’s best friend — and maker of his insane suits (not to mention cashmere overcoats, Chelsea boots, jaunty trilbies, linen boxers, leather driving gloves, and rabbit-fur-lined not-driving gloves) — was in town. He’s got the appetite and bloodlust of a lion, so dinner was going to be carnalicious.

We were joined by his girlfriend and a man they call “the Chief.” For months, I’ve been regaled with tales of his out-sized living and outrageous capers. He did not disappoint. He showed up with a jeroboam of Michel Lynch 2004 Merlot (not the bottle above — that’s the one he brought to the Thanksgiving party). For those keeping score at home, that’s four standard .75-liter bottles.

The sommelier very nearly refused to uncork the bottle, citing the fine print of their corkage policy: no more than the equivalent of two standard bottles (on the phone they simply said the limit was two bottles). But the Chief talked him down — or up, depending on how you look at these things — and they agreed to accept $35 for every single-bottle equivalent. So, again, if you’re doing the numbers: that’s $140 to uncork and decant a bottle of wine. Righty-o then.

And so it began. Five of us sat down and promptly got to work demolishing a blue cheese-encrusted steak for two, a rack of lamb for two (uh … two wolves, perhaps), and a bajillion sides. Every few minutes, we giggled gleefully about how much wine we had … until suddenly we realized we didn’t have that much anymore. Where did it go? We have our suspicions about the sommelier.

To complete the mantastic evening, we retired to Club Macanudo, one of the few NYC establishments where smoking indoors is still allowed. And then — because scotch and champagne and cigars were certainly not enough — we hit up the pre-opening party for a cocktail bar called Rye House.

I woke up this morning with a killer headache and a big important meeting to run. I promptly made myself a Ramos (and a cappuccino).

Hey, it’s a breakfast drink!