I have arrived a little earlier than my girls with whom I am celebrating the death of the diaper wearing fiend, who plays with all of our mortal hearts like the child he is depicted as would amuse himself with mere toys; Sharon, my beautiful roommate and friend, should be here relatively soon while Manisha, my soul sister, should make her entrance at 7:30 given that she goes by Manish Time, which is a special time zone only she occupies and for which I have begun to lovingly tease her. I am asked to wait near the door by the friendly and cheerful waitress while she finds me a spot in the rather empty restaurant, considering what time of year it is; I had been expecting a line up outside and the tables to be filled with barf-worthy couples canoodling and whispering together over coffee and chocolate goodies. I sigh inwardly in relief because at least Cupid's dirty work will not be on display.
I take the opportunity to look around me since it is my first time at this place about which I have heard so many positive comments. The open and airy space and the elevated cream ceilings make me feel even smaller than I really am while the exposed brown brick of the wall in front of me gives the restaurant a rustic aspect. When the waitress comes to collect me in order to show me to my seat, I glance down at the floor and notice that the tiles resemble milk chocolate squares so that I have the impression that I am walking on chocolate; I cannot help but smile at the thought.
She seats me at a table attached to an extended length of banquette that resembles an extra long Hershey's milk chocolate bar... more chocolate imagery. The varnished wooden table on which my left arm and right elbow now rest and onto which the manicured nails of my left hand drum unconsciously is also the color of milk chocolate... hmm, I sense a theme here as I decide to sit on the Hershey's milk chocolate bar. The walls are the same shade as silky smooth white chocolate and the old fashioned wooden cabinets and counters are a slightly whiter and less creamy tint; the counters are covered by pale wooden butcher blocks on which red-aproned and hatted employees busily assemble and put the finishing touches on the various desserts that have been ordered by the hungry patrons. Right above me, on top of the imposing half wall that separates the restaurant in two, are large bulbous vases filled with lengthy decorative spiraling ivory branches that fill the space between this wooden ledge and the imposing and high ceiling.
As I am gazing around me, letting my mind wander not unpleasantly, Sharon appears before me, dark brown hair glistening with melting snowflakes that are falling in abundance outside, her turquoise scarf a beautiful contrast between her pale face and her black tweed coat; she is smiling, her cheeks rosy from having just come from outside and her glasses are de-fogging slowly. I greet her with two kisses on her slightly damp and cold cheeks, even though we saw each other just this morning at home, and I wish her a very Happy Fuck Cupid Day. She sits in front of me on the wooden chair and we make small talk while devouring the menu with our hungry eyes, trying to choose one of the many delicious sounding salads that shall make up our late dinner and shall hopefully compensate for all of the heavier calories we shall ingest afterwards.
The menu mostly consists of chocolate inspired dishes and its mammoth list of brownies, pastries and other desserts to choose from makes my mouth water - an actual cornucopia of chocolate decadence and flavored coffees to perpetuate a sweet and delicious fall from grace for anyone attempting to remain on a diet... thankfully, that is not my case any longer and so I shall enjoy every single bite from whatever it is that I do decide upon... though the decision might be extremely difficult to make... can I take two desserts? Why just have one? Isn't there a saying that good things only come in twos? And at the moment I cannot think of anything else that could be better in twos than a double dose of brownies... maybe with some melting ice cream on top and a huge coffee...
We both decide on our respective salads and we talk about various subjects, including Sharon's new paramedic boyfriend, while we are waiting for our meals to arrive. I take a few minutes to jot down my impressions of the restaurant in my writing journal; we joke around that I should pretend to be writing a review for a newspaper so that I might perhaps get a discount or a free meal. Our immense salads arrive shortly and both plates literally take up the whole tiny table. The king-size bed of lettuce adorning my huge white square plate is topped with pieces of hard-boiled eggs, strips of deli ham, and the best part, topped with roughly grated cheese. My salad is garnished how I think all dishes should be: with copious amounts of cheese! I believe, like the Cheese Whiz slogan, that cheese adds personality! We quickly dig in, both of us being famished; I make appreciative "MMMs" with every bite, which I unsuccessfully try to stifle because it tends to annoy people, unless the person sitting in front of me is my mother, in which case she does the same thing.
Halfway through our salads, I see my bundled-up better half walking towards our table. I quickly get up and embrace her, giving her tons of kisses on her chilly cheeks to which she giggles and kisses me back just as fervently. Her long black hair peaking out from underneath her tuque is slightly damp from being exposed to the snowy elements and her dark brown eyes are laughing as she looks at me. She takes off her coat and displays a cute red shirt she has worn on account of Single Awareness Day, takes a seat on the banquette next to me and begins to look at the menu while Sharon and I finish our salads; she exclaims over all of the desserts, expressing her desire to try each and every one of the decadent brownies.
Once we are finished our salads and before the waiter has come and taken our order, I decide to get up and investigate the intriguing glass case to my left; it is every diabetic's worst nightmare and every model's private and personal Hell. The glass shelves are filled to capacity with goodies beyond anyone's wild imagination; peanut butter and chocolate brownies, white chocolate brownies, unctuous looking chocolate brownies and countless other sorts all piled high on top of immense square porcelain plates with hand-written labels next to them indicating their savory identities.
The other side of the display case is full of special and presumably hand-crafted chocolates, either decorated with different colored icing or plain and made in all sorts of shapes, like squares, ovals and circles. The chocolates are all neatly lined up on the same white dishes used to keep the sumptuous brownies and there are layers of them in each plate separated by parchment paper - to be that parchment paper, I secretly think for an instant! Moreover, I can just imagine the sweet and flavorful smell that must escape from this dessert paradise every time an employee has to reach in and take an incredible morsel of chocolate or brownie.
Once I have finished inspecting all of the immoral treats, I go back to my Hershey bar seat and start dissecting the menu with Manisha; we go through all of the choices and list all of the ones we could make, which are seemingly endless! Should I have the chocolate and peanut butter or the white chocolate brownie? Or, should I have a sundae, satisfying my chocolate and ice cream fix at the same time? Finally, I decide upon the trifle: chocolate mousse layered with pieces of brownies and filled with caramel goodness, complete with melted chocolate to pour on top... OMIGOD. But then, the coffee selection makes me hesitate a little... what should I have since every kind is so tempting? I, after consulting the woman who introduced me to my drug in the first place, choose a simple latte so that it will not compete with the richness of my dessert... though I still have a little bit of a difficult time sticking to my decision... and Sharon insists I have a DECAF latte... I wonder why? When I do mention the latte, conveniently omitting the DECAF part, she immediately looks at our waiter and says "Decaf for HER please." To which I respond by sticking out my tongue at her.
The desserts soon arrive with a flourish: the brownie trifle for me, the brownie a la mode for Manisha and a sundae for Sharon. The three of us sink our spoons into our respective chocolate dishes and then are silent... the chocolatey goodness has rendered us mute, which is hard to do, especially to Manisha and I when we are together. The only sounds coming from our table for a few seconds are "MMMMs" of praise and appreciation... and I can only begin to describe my dessert as being an orgasm in chocolate mousse form. The creaminess of the dense chocolate mousse lends itself perfectly to the slight saltiness of the thick caramel sauce, all of which is punctuated by the small pieces of soft brownie morsels, and the melted chocolate sauce which I have poured on top adds another layer to the orgasmic melange pervading my mouth. Add to that the taste of the latte that I am slowly sipping, which is mingling and intertwining itself with the rest of the flavors I have just mentioned... and you can see why I have chosen to describe this utter bliss as an orgasm.
My two girls and I have a great time, eating, laughing, smiling and calling Cupid all sorts of dirty and inappropriate names... ok, ok, it is mostly me badmouthing Cupid... and then we vow to come back and share at least five desserts between the three of us! All in all, this Fuck Cupid Day has not been so bad because I have the best girlfriends to share it with... now, if only Cupid could take some archery classes from his cousin and step father Ares, the Greek Gods are very incestuous as you all know, so that he could aim for an AVAILABLE man to add to my already amazing life, despite all of my recent ranting and grumbling, then I might not want to hurt him so badly...
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