Well the last Spring Break I’ll get for at least the next few years has come to an end and of course my brain isn’t functioning regularly yet even though I’ve been back at school since Sunday. To make things worse, Andrew sent me the following clip from this past week’s Saturday Night Live, which I missed, that has to be one of the all-time funniest things to come from SNL and features one of my favorite people and America’s answer to the Two Fat Ladies, Paula Deen:
Vodpod videos no longer available.Now, aside from the sheer brilliance that are”That’s as stupid as fat free cream cheese,” “It started with me gettin’ what my mamma calls ‘the sugars'” and the ‘n’ word being nutrition, Kristn Wiig’s spot-on impersonation of my favorite hillbilly left Justin, Andrew and me wondering something: how does one spell my new favorite saying, “hot butter and oil” in this Southern dialect that is just too Southern for me to apparently comprehend. Now, I figured out this unique pronunciation of butter is “booter,” but the way Kirsten Wiig says oil is just so bizarre. Andrew thinks it’s spelled “aayl,” but Justin feels that spelling is wrong and offered “aaieyl.” Grace, meanwhile, is convinced that both are wrong and that it should be “awl.” I’m still trying to figure out how I think it is properly spelled so if anyone from my beloved SNL is dumb enough to read this, A, my mother thinks I should write for you (but her opinion doesn’t count because I’m her only child and like all Jewish parents, she secretly thinks I’m the Messiah) and B, (and more importantly), can I get the correct spelling, please. Thanks, y’all!
It should be noted that while writing about this, I came to the sad, and overly disturbing realization that is the tenth time I have mentioned the beloved Queen of Butter and the third time in 2012 alone! All I can say about this is “Hot booter ‘n’ oil [since the correct spelling yet to be determined, I will be using the actual English spelling of oil], y’all!”
Moving away from “hot booter ‘n’ oil,” Spring Break was nice, until I woke up 48 hours after arriving in Palm Beach sniffling like a teenage girl watching “The Notebook” (which, for the record, is a movie you couldn’t pay me to see). The only difference was that I wasn’t watching anything depressing. Now, I will not come out and say that I had a cold because I had dinner reservations every night and like hell was I staying in to eat a baked chicken from Publix!
So what did mother and I do once we dropped off our Lady Madonna at the airport on Sunday? We took two of the three free movie passes some moron gave him and drove down to Boca, Land of the Jews, to see the other Madonna’s new movie, “W.E.,” the movie about the love affair between the Duke and Duchess of Windsor while showing the blossoming love affair between a married woman named Wallis (because her mother and grandmother were obsessed with a woman who looked like a man and nearly brought down the entire British Monarchy; that right there is what I would like to call a great role model) and a security guard at Sotheby’s in 1997 during the historic auction of the personal items belonging to the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.
If that doesn’t make sense to you, don’t worry because the movie doesn’t make any sense at all either. Sadly, the trailer makes it look half decent, but in reality, I actually left that theatre thinking one thing: I would like my free ticket back! Madonna, just go into retirement. The music career is over (I think the Superbowl Halftime Show confirmed it since you’ve now joined the league of such illustrious performers as Ashely Simpson and Kid Rock), you haven’t acted in ages; just let the 80, 90s and early 2000s music you made define your career.
Harvey Weinstein, as much as I have enjoyed many of your films over the years (I even bought an Adult ticket to see some of them, including my favorite movie of 2011, “The Artist”), I cannot believe you associated yourself with this overly confusing, poorly-made, recorded nightmare. I would call it a film, but that wouldn’t be fair to actual directors who know what the hell they’re doing!
Aside from visiting old Palm Beach restaurant favorites, mother decided that since I’m of legal age, it was finally time for her to do what she has wanted to do for years and that is go to get drinks before dinner at restaurants and hotels all over the island. See, aside from mother and I, no one in our family really drinks alcohol, aside from the occasional glass of wine with dinner so there has never been anyone who has wanted to go with her before me and hey, I wasn’t paying!
The Tapestry Bar at the Breakers is one of the most magnificent rooms in the world. There will never be rooms of that scale and grandeur ever built again and to be able to experience even a taste of what it was like back when Henry Flagler’s hotel was a second home to everyone who mattered for decades is just remarkable. Plus, they have a Happy Hour from 17h0-19h0. Mother and I each had a glass of wine, plus the trio of dips to go with the chips that accompanied our drinks (the Port Wine Pommery was our favorite because of its very subtle taste and smooth texture) was less than $20, including gratuity. And they validated the parking ticket! For Palm Beach, that is a bargain, people!
For non-hotel bars, we preferred Buccan, which is right on County, across from the one gas station left on the island. We’d never been before (because some people don’t like to try new things anymore) and decided to give it a shot. I’d heard that it’s more of a place to go for appetizers than it is for dinner and so we sat at copper-plated bar tables that glistened just like a freshly-polished copper pot. Again, Happy Hour exists in Palm Beach, which is odd because one would assume that every hour in paradise is happy. In addition to a glass of wine each, we shared the featured cheese and the prosciutto & fontina arancini, which I really enjoyed.
What I enjoyed even more though was knowing that I’m not the only guy who has to put up with his mother constantly trying to take photos of her “baby.” Two bar tables away from us sat a guy about my age, maybe younger, with his very thirsty parents who did what mother loves to do more than anything else: take embarrassing photos of young adult sons in restaurants with the flash. Do y’all know how annoying that iPhone flash is? I swear, I hate the flash, so when we were in Florida this time, I just started carrying my Leica around with me because I’ve come to the conclusion that if someone is going to be taking a photo of me, it’s gonna be taken with a real camera!
The highlight of the trip for me, though, was not having cocktails every night before dinner, but it was our final evening when we dinnered at Palm Beach’s newest restaurant, Imoto, a sushi bar with a limited Asian-inspired cuisine menu located right next door to Buccan. Despite probably belonging more in South Beach than in Palm Beach, a place that kind of shuns change of any kind, especially pennies because nothing in Palm Beach has ever required the need to even contemplate using a penny, Imoto is capturing a market that until now has been dominated almost exclusively by restaurant-turned nightclub after 22h0, the always popular Cucina Dell Arte.
Aside from not having a website as promised on the business card and matches, Imoto’s only flaw is that it’s only open for dinner. If they opened for lunch, that stupid Pizza al Fresco off of Worth Avenue would finally realize that you can’t charge $20 for a salad and not have service to match it. My only complaint with the dinner itself was that I would have preferred that the rice on top of which my fillet of beef was placed was a bit too spicy for my liking. That, and we didn’t get the orange slices like everyone else at the end of the meal. Mother’s rock shrimp tempura with spicy aioli sauce, which was not spicy at all (thank you very much), was so good the next morning cold before we left for the airport! The non-spicy, spicy aioli sauce gave it this invigorating kick that just took the overall flavor to a whole new level!
I highly recommend this place, but warn that if you happen to be over the age of 47, don’t be there past 21h0 because you will definitely be the oldest person in there. This might be the only restaurant in Palm Beach that won’t have a single customer on ventilation and that is impressive! In my opinion, Imoto might just be the new Cucina becuase it’s hip, it’s fun, the food is amazing, and most importantly, I wasn’t the youngest person there!
Mother’s highlight was a bit different from mine. She and Jean went to a charity luncheon at Mar-a-Lago for the American Humane Society because of a dog dressed in a pink gown and wearing a tiara. I’m not making this up. This year, the society was honoring Candy Spelling with their humanitarian award in recognition of her philanthropic efforts. Sadly, I think Princess Zelda, the tiara-wearing dog, got more attention because well, it’s a dog wearing a dress and a tiara vs. a woman who had three gift-wrapping rooms in the house she finally sold after being on the market for over two years. In all honesty, I’d being paying more attention the dog too.
Meanwhile, Andrew spent his final Spring Break on the Coast (I love saying that) doing whatever it is people in LA do. The high point of his trip came on the flight back, though, because Andrew was seated across the aisle from legendary actor Sam Waterston, better known as District Attorney Jack McCoy from Law & Order. Yes, cue the music:
Now, of course, because it’s Andrew, he refused to just make my life complete and casually make that infamous noise in Mr. Waterston’s presence during the plane’s descent into JFK , but he did tell me that he watched an episode or two of the show, so I guess he gets something for doing that.
Back in Florida, Justin, who continued to remind me over Spring Break that some people don’t get a week off for Spring Break anymore, to which I should remind him that he volunteered to graduate a semester early so it’s his own doing, is moving. He’s leaving his apartment not far from the Rollins campus and heading to a new apartment near my beloved Whole Foods in Winter Park. This was where I developed a disgusting obsession with the two-bite brownies, which I then topped with Betty Crocker vanilla frosting using a knife I took from the prepared food section. It was so delicious, eating from a trash can after discarding the evidence in an effort to stop inhaling anymore of them. And don’t judge because this is something that happened in college and everyone does some weird stuff in college!
Back to Justin, his move-in date is on April 22nd, when the average daily temperature will be 84°F, so you have fun with that one, Justin! He realized it was time to leave his current apartment, which he has had since this past summer, because the cinderblock chic decor that was provided for him and the noise from the house parties his college student neighbors make nightly was too much for him to handle. Having stayed there, I’m just so thrilled to see him leave that dump and move into a place more fitting with the 21st Century. I say this because in his on-going efforts to pretend like it’s 1975, Justin lacks something even my 90-year old grandparents have: internet access! Justin, the 21st Century can’t wait to see you again.
In a more serious note, today marks the 12th day since Justin smoked his last cigarette, cigar or pipe which is very impressive, especially since he’s too cheap to buy Nicotine gum or patches! I’m so proud of you, Justin, but at the same time upset because now I actually have to put thought into your graduation present!
Finally tonight, before I head to a “I’m Not Irish and Therefore Not Celebrating Tomorrow” party, I whipped out the Leica and took some photos of my dog, Buddy, when I was home last weekend before returning to Charlottesville to prove to Andrew that I do in fact use my new camera. However, His Royal Buddness (which is a name to which he will respond) is useless. Out of about 45 photos, maybe ten came out well because he refuses to stay still.
I would like to note that I’m fully aware that everyone who has a dog is convinced that they have the cutest, most handsome dog to have ever been brought onto the face of the earth, but I’m just saying that HRB looks like the cutest dog on the face of the earth in these photos.
Look at that 11-year old puppy!
He gets away with murder because of this face. I would pay millions to learn how to make it but he’s stubborn and refuses to tell me.
Alright, I’m off to go die of heat stroke here in Charlottesville while trying to imagine the same temperature with a breeze from the Atlantic Ocean in Palm Beach. It looks like this:
Until next time…
-JD
The Yapper 