Out of Towners mean I am allowed to drink extra!

Banker’s old college buddy Perfect Gentleman was in town this weekend. Banker, being a man of character, arranged a fancy dinner for P.G. and friends at Wolfgang’s Steakhouse. Banker, being a sentimental fool who should know better by now, invited me to attend.

Now, Banker was kind enough to move the reservation back a half an hour to accommodate my work schedule. He did however threaten excommunication if I was late, the evening being altered solely to fit my needs. Taking Banker very seriously, I arrive 15 minutes early. I was alone for the next 20 minutes.

This being a classy steakhouse, I grabbed a glass of Bourbon, a good aperitif for a steak dinner. When Banker and Perfect Gentleman arrive, Perfect Gentleman talks me (rather easily, to be honest) into having a Dirty Martini. I had forgotten that Martinis are both delicious and a rip off. I was charged 12 bucks for what was basically Stoli and olive juice. Tasty, but still, 12 bucks?

Spring Roll, Espny and the future Mrs. Espny all arrived in the next ten minutes, and we checked in with the lady at the desk. We were told to wait. We waited for a while. P.G. and I refreshed our martinis. We keep waiting. Banker does not take kindly to this blatant rudeness. I try to calm him down, but Banker has a history of handling dining related incompetence poorly. He goes outside to see if we can get a table at a nearby steakhouse. As he books us a table elsewhere, we are told our table is ready. It is 9:30; our reservation was for 8:30. This is going to go poorly.

Now I have been accused of having an odd air when I go out to eat with a large group of friends. The exact line, I believe, is I “act like a mafia don”. While I admit to a light gregariousness, I think that is a tad much. Yet again here I was put, accidentally I hope, at the head of the table, and charged with ordering the wine. Despite my palate for the Sauce, I am not much of a wine expert. I can bullshit my way pretty well, thanks to wonderful parents whose sense of the grape far outclasses my own, but that’s it. I did happen to stumble on a Magnum of a good bottle I knew about, and kept our inebriated crew going. Around the time of the appetizers, the three ‘cocktails’ (one bourbon and two vodkas-in-a-goofy-glass) caught up to me, so I kept quiet. When the steaks finally came (the service at the table was about as bad as the service to get to the table, although our waiter was very apologetic) I ate up and came back to play. I began egging on Perfect Gentleman, who is a lot of fun to get going once he has a couple of drinks in him. The rest of the table did a good job of pretending to find this amusing. I have good friends.

I do have to say, the steak was fantastic, but not worth the hassle we had to go through. We left the restaurant vowing not to return, Banker still riled with the treatment we had gotten. Mr. and Future Mrs. Espny headed uptown, while the remaining party headed downtown for more craziness. Spring Roll wanted to head to Alphabet City, because she lives there; Banker wanted to head to the LES, because there is a bar there he likes; Perfect Gentleman wanted to head to a nearby bar, because he is a crazy drunk. We got into a cab and headed south. I, who had to wake up early the next day in order to clean, move, then go to work, demanded that we stay as far uptown as possible. During the cab ride, I won P.G. to my cause, and we through sheer drunken belligerence, demand the cab stop so we can start drinking sooner. The cabbie complies, and we stop in the East Village. I not so much suggest that we go to Nevada’s as begin a march over, threatening any one who falls out of line. Once there, we hit the basement, and I grab a pitcher and drunkenly chat up the bartender (possibly hugging him, but its cool cause I am a regular). I attempt to drink my beer, but it becomes clear that if I want to wake up at 9 am tomorrow in any functioning shape, I had to go. So I bid my friends ado, apologized for leading them to a weird bar for no reason and leaving soon after (I hope) and jumped into a cab.

I should not be aloud at nice restaurants without proper supervision.