Eat, Drink, and be Fat and Drunk (Patreon)

This is a happy Heather.

One who behaves erratically whilst at a nice restaurant. She says silly things, and gets more drinks than she needs, and loathes the idea of leaving before 4 hours have passed. (If she’s in a tipping culture, she always tells the server that she’ll take care of them.)

Banquettes are always preferable. Especially the particularly mushy ones that you can sink into. Being at just above armpit level is fantastic. It means that she can have a nice time while Natalia and Olga take a nap, and the waiter doesn’t get so blown off course mid-Specials. (Not that kind of taking care of.)

I’m sure I’m not alone here (experientially, if not chestically), but there was this one point during Covid when things loosened up a little. Found myself in a random restaurant, some plain little sidewalk bistro, realizing that I was actually consuming food that I, myself, hadn’t prepared. First other-person-made meal in… 8 months. It kinda hit me, emotionally, halfway through a tapa. It was a good tapa. Best I’ve ever had.

Restaurants have always been important things to me. Didn’t quite realize how important until that odd little day in late 2020, with the goat cheese, and the winter sun, and everyone being as chill as possible, and everyone playing their parts, and we were all a little sad, because you can see that in the eyes, and masks don’t cover eyes.

It’s taken me a little while to get back into the swing of things. So whenever I find myself at a restaurant these days, there’s something special and beautiful in it. Nice to live long enough, through something pretty terrible, to figure something out that makes the other things better. Context sucks.

The simple things that count. I still try to maintain good table manners, but table manners are a flexible construct, and I don’t really think they matter much these days, provided you’re having a nice time.

This is a happy Heather, gushing about in her seat, about to blather on as she shoves herself into the edge of the table. She’s pretty sure she is solidly into her third mojito, which doesn’t hurt.