May you find this little tidbit indicative of my supreme intelligence.
I don't know if any of you have seen the Jaywalkers segment on Jay Leno, but on Sunday night I was one of them.
Kevin and I had decided to try a hip, new-ish seafood restaurant in Cherry Creek North. After driving all the way across town, we realized the restaurant was closed. We had no back-up plan, y'all, none. Sunday was what again? Oh that's right, only the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend.
Onward towards more (our) neighborhoodly parts of town, we found ourselves parked in front of a homely, but very open, establishment called Mikey's Italian Bistro. Since I am the one who finds herself the idiot in the rest of this post, it gives me a tiny bit of pleasure to note that Kevin calls the joint Mickey's. (Uh-huh, like the mouse.)
Mickey's/Mikey's was off to rough restaurant beginnings. Sweaty waitress, wet stinky tables, gross funky soupy mess dribbling down a nearby barstool. I dabbed the table with my napkin, ignored the funk, and charmed the pants right off our perspiring server.
Things started looking up with sweet whipped butter and $13.50 carafes of Chianti. To distract me from my funk-o-phobia and the greasy brow of our waitress, Kevin decided to play "Name All The Famous People On The Wall" while slathering our bread with the delectable spread.
Um, I don't know.
Ummm, Marlon Brando?
No. Dean Martin.
I know that's Frank Sinatra.
Yep, and who's the black guy?
Um, Richard Pryor?
Ha ha. You really think that's Richard Pryor? C'mon.
And so on and on, at least through 2 glasses of Chianti, it went.
Joe Dimaggio became Hank Aaron ("Wrong race, sweetie"), Pavarotti became Abe Lincoln, and MLK, Jr. became Jesse Jackson. I think the clincher was when I mistook Ghandi for Spike Lee.
Now, even though I consider myself an intellect of the worldliest of matters, a bonified English Master's-totin' scholar, history is most obviously not my thing. But really, rosalicious.....Ghandi?
Yup, Jaywalkers. When can you come film me?
Just in case you're wondering how the rest of the meal went, (because soon after the rosalicious quiz show fried calamari came, and all laughter regarding my stupidity came to an abrupt halt) it was superb. Gorgonzola, garlic, butter, and cream drenched penne pasta and mussels, shrimp, and scallops. A salad, drizzled in thick sweet balsamic vinagrette, preceded the thick, parsley-slathered mound of carbohydrate-laden yumminess. And let's not forget the bread, oh yes it kept a'coming....and that butter.