My Last Great Supper

I think I’m going to DIE….. I can barely keep my eyes open, I sleep over ten hours a day and all I can think of is cupcakes covered in decedent chocolate….or warm carrot cake slathered with creamy icing…..or better yet a frothy vanilla latte from my ex BFF Starbucks. (That mermaid really gets under my skin) At this point I’m really questioning why I thought cutting out all sugar and caffeine was such an attractive idea. In fact it just may be right up there with thinking I could be a marathon runner. (In my defense the running team took me on the wrong trail and before I knew it the advanced runners had me ten miles in…COME ON…who wouldn’t end it right then and there)

The last night of sugar and caffeine before this horrendous 30 day challenged was supposed to be glorious. My little sister was turning all of 23-years-old and we had plans to hit up an Armenian restaurant for dinner. Odd I know, but this was my brother-in-laws brilliant plan….in his defense he raved about a special dark chocolate cake he bought from a high end bakery called of all things……Sweet Lady Jane of Beverly Hills. I envisioned sitting next to my pregnant sister, downing delicious wine smugly, while eating with my hands piles of Armenian delights. I really don’t know what they eat in Armenia but I had this romantic notion that I would be sitting on silk pillows, candle lit with live music.  Plate after plate of rice, meats, curry sauce and soups would appear magically. This romantic setting would be followed by a round of cappuccino and this cake that has a better reputation than Mother Teresa would cap off the evening.

 Well let me be the first one to say it went NOTHING like I fantasized, other than the fact I was surrounded by my loved ones and it was in fact my sister’s birthday.  The evening started out with harsh lighting and cafeteria like seating. I was instantly relieved when the waiter came to take drink orders, nothing like a little vino to cure some bad lighting. Evidently in Armenia they don’t believe in wine or vodka, or pretty much any other suitable cocktail. Seeing as I loathe the taste of beer, I settle on something called Arak. In order to drink the Arak concoction you had to dilute it with water.  The moment it touched my lips, my mouth started to burn as a black licorice liquid coats my throat. This was a minor setback, but I assured myself after filling up on a fine dinner and dessert all would be forgotten.   This is the part of the last great supper that I would like to forget. Sure enough plates of something came out of that kitchen, and sure enough it kept coming. I just wish I could send it all back. Salty cheese and raw vegetables, raw meat served with dry over cooked flatbread completed the first round. I’m sure you can visualize how scrumptious the rest of the courses were.

My saving grace was the chocolate cake, which I have to say really kicked up the night. I’m not taking about the cake itself. In the Armenian custom they put what looks like a missile in the middle of the cake, but my favorite part wasn’t the hissing of the overwhelming flames billowing from the cake. My favorite part was when the owner/waiter/valet, started moonlighting as a DJ.  He turns off the cafeteria lighting, causing all to turn black then proceeds to flick on and off only the center lights. His strobe lights were only the beginning; he proceeds to blast 80’s workout music for a dramatic start and then heads into a pop version of Happy Birthday. Lucky for us an entire table of Armenians showed us how to get the party started. Mind you this is just a small restaurant. They make a dance circle in the center and force all the women a t our table to join them. If I was even slightly tipsy this would have been hilarious. The only problem is…..it’s not. This is my last night of freedom and I did not see it ending this way. I’d been waiting all day and in fact staring with my mouth salivating at my Sweet Lady Jane. My sister Erica passes a plate my way. This was it, after this my addiction to sugar and caffeine had to be cured.  After this one sweet slice, I was done. My rehab would start as soon as this last vice was taken care of. Of all the last sweet moments I could have enjoyed, this last slice of hard cold bitter chocolate will be my last for the next thirty days. Isn’t it supposed to be warm and light and fluffy and filled with some special filling?  Oh, hell what have I done? Let the games begin.



Cake ON FIRE!!!



Last Bite



LOOKS beautiful



No....THIS is the last bite....