Do I know WHO? Bu?

I sometimes do not know how to control myself in wonderful situations. It's like I don't know what to do with my hands or my words so I just open my eyes real wide and fidget and I feel like squealing. I should say that I consider many sufficiently awkward or ridiculous situations wonderful.

A few weeks ago, in a rather impulsive move, Ex-IB and I moseyed into Nobu. We felt a little like we were getting away with something- me wearing flip flops; him a short sleeve polo. Put together- Yes. Nobu ready- No, no.

We thought at the sight of my flip flops and his jeans they would wave their hands dismissing us, so we hid behind the hostess stand and were granted a table in the nearly empty dining room. We had beat the rush and they were apparently willing to fill the dining room with non-high rollers like our selves.

The first table we had a view of was a blonde woman with a white dress, acting very casual drinking her Pellegrino and eating sashimi with her 6 year old son who was also eating the sashimi. I think of this table and I try to remember what the son was wearing but I am convinced that he was wearing a sailor suit. Perfect little boy, with his perfect little face in a sailor suit. I am sure this is not true but I am unable to release the image.

They are the people who dine at Nobu early in the early evening, late in the afternoon. This is what I imagined and this is what I received.

We did not feel or look out of place at Nobu as we suspected we might in our current attire. Although this woman was older, of a different class, and probably spoke a foreign language with ease, I felt that she could have been me ten years ago. An appreciator of fine things. (ALSO. I would like to wear a lot of white in my 30s TOO and perhaps reside in SoCal. where my hair will lighten with the sun.)

We ordered lychee mojitos and our food (Ex-IB, being fancier than myself had dined at Nobu, "I don't know a few times" before and so I trusted him with most of the ordering). After our first course the room started filling up. What sort of fancy people would be entering?

.........I don't remember them being seated because I was elbow deep and drunk on the raw tuna involved in our first course. We were served our next dish when I noticed a Lee Press on nail pointing to it just a few inches away, and then a voice that sounded like home, but more extreme. It was the voice of Staten Island, or perhaps Sheepshead Bay, "Excuse me, what is that?"

I started to answer, but flinched at the unexpected sight of the woman sitting next to me. With a frosted head of hair she had a look of controlled disgust on her face when asking her question. Ex-IB came to the rescue confidently, "Artic Char with Crisp Spinach leaves." She looked at us like we were crazy AND disgusting. Later we laughed, "Oh just artic char with some crisp spinach leaves!"

"Elite 20 something Manhattan assholes!" I could imagine them saying later. Suddenly we were the people who dined at Nobu, "Her in her little black outfit and headband. Him in his fancy logo-ed shirt," they'd scoff, "Eating their weird fish and spinach!" her date with the odd hair plugs would say. "Yeah! And who eats Spinach CRISP!" the woman would laugh in her off the shoulder, bra bearing shirt that let us know in gold letters that she was a "Wicked Diva."

Ex-IB and I made eye contact and quickly unlocked for fear of inappropriate laughter. The woman was now onto the woman in the white dress, "Ohmygawwwd! My girls are older than your kid and they would NEVA eat sushi." Sailor boy looked away. I don't think he'd ever seen anything like it!

Ex-IB said what all of you are thinking, "Helen, you're a snob." But like I hope you are, he too was shocked with amusement at the unexpected caricatures to our right.

The table to the opposite side of us was sat. Another couple. Would they notice Wicked Diva? Would they yuck it up with us assholes?

They perused the menu, the waiter came over. They were from the South. I think it was her first time at a restaurant that didn't serve eggs all day long (if that joke didn't come in clear, I mean a diner). She asked about the Omakase and upon hearing that it was the chef's menu she retorted, "OH! Nobu?"
"Hmmm?"
"That's the chef right?'
"Oh... well, yes, but that's not the chef deciding."
"Is Nobu here? My momma would just die!"
She decided against the Omakase because, "I can't have somebody else decide what I'm havin' for supper." Her husband/ boyfriend/ spouse or whatever was gruff and decided that he'd let her chose his meal and went to the bathroom.

She ordered a California roll. And a vegetable roll and then asked which soup was "hearty."

Ex-IB flinched at the word "hearty." "You are SUCH a snob," I told him.

I didn't really know how to handle my good fortune of sitting amidst such wonderful entertainment. They couldn't have been more exaggerated characters! It was the closest I've ever been to an SNL skit and I've done my fair share of comedic acting!

At this point I was just bursting inside! BURSTING! Someone too snobby and fancy would never have been able to appreciate this, but us, it was just the jarred maraschino cherry on top of the super fancy dessert we got at Nobu a few nights later, when we returned-- to people watch!

And people watch we did. Although the entertainment didn't have me exploding from the inside, Michael Jordan, Alan Thicke and a gaggle of sports celebrities with their coked up model girlfriends provided some, albeit more expected, entertainment that second night.

In years to come I will remember the other worldly tenderness of the black cod with miso and pray that I will someday have fish that great again. And the dapper young man I shared it with... I will and have had many lovely dining experiences with since.... But those dining mates that sat beside us that evening and foiled each other so beautifully..... I would just be putting myself up for disappointment in hoping to experience characters so ridiculous, in such a setting, again.






Disclaimer: If this blog entry has left you feeling a bit disgusted with me, like I'm too much of a snobby, bad, elitist, judging and looking down on people, hyper aware of class- take this disclaimer to heart. I am not really a snob, but an appreciator of fine things, however high falutent they are. So I am a snob, sort of, but I am a selective snob because I also equally appreciate the low brow wonderful things in life. I have no problem shopping at Forever 21 sometimes, but also, I appreciate a perfectly fitted fine shirt and I adore my fancy leather purse. I find things like overtly labeled designer wear obviously tasteless, but also find tasteless sweatshirts with Old Navy lettering and I can vow that it is equally unlikely to ever see me in either. I love a good diner burger but if someone orders theirs medium well I high tail it to snob mode. MEDIUM WELL or WELL DINER BURGERS ARE SIMPLY RETARDED. But equally appalling is going to a nice restaurant and ordering certain things. Like the other night, (she knows this is coming because she is one of my best friends and knows my levels of snobitude) when I was luckily seated at a table next to one of my favorite chefs at a restaurant I adore with several of my friends. We went around the table ordering items for our family style meal, "Parsnips Agrodolce," "Seppia and Pickled Ramps," "We'll have the cheese platter with the Aged Pepper Goat, the Tallegio.." and, "um.....do guys have like... spaghetti and meatballs." I took a huge sip of the Chianti and glanced back praying Molto Mario hadn't heard. Upon facing the table again, a friend leaned in, "I was looking at him when she began to order, could you imagine if he heard!" (I have equally snobby friends, hooray!)
Anyway, take the fact that one of my favorite past times takes place on many Monday nights when I eat wings and slug beer with one of my college friends after working out so we are kind of gross and unkempt. Also take into consideration that although I am wearing a cashmere sweater, the shoes I am wearing today cost $9 at Kohls.