I ate Lamb’s testicles this past Saturday. Let me explain. So I bought a Groupon for a new restaurant called Brannigans (or something like that). Checked out the menu and it looks unbelievable…top menu.
I get there…and it has a rainbow on the door. A rainbow? Interesting. What did this place used to be again? A punk club or something? Yeah, must’ve been a punk club. Anyhow, so it’s Industrial Chic. Wait, no, it’s not industrial chic…it’s just industrial. ATMs built into the wall, tables RIGHT beside the bathroom doors (the old salon-style bathroom doors), incomplete wiring and piping in the ceiling (seriously, I understand you want to show pipes…but incomplete drywall is just laziness). Anyway, I order the Chocolate Voyage. A seven-course extravaganza where each one features a taste of chocolate.
Damn it, why do those three guys keep staring at me? All right, focus.
First course…not bad. A nice Butternut Squash soup. Not my favourite but the chocolate crouton is one of the best things ever and it rescues that course.
Second portion. Salmon with white chocolate. Salmon is cold and rigid. Maybe that’s what it’s supposed to be like? I choke it down but white chocolate is surprisingly good.
Lamb meatballs with a cocoa drizzle. Huh…they’re red inside. That’s a little odd. Not what I expected. Is lamb red? Why it must be. First bite. Odd, the centre is cold, and chewy. I think it’s sinew or something. The guy is still staring. Maybe because he’s wondering why *his* meatball is red. So I ask him. And I understood. Oh…he’s gay. And the two guys with him are gay.
Here’s a little truth — I am incredibly sexy to members of the same sex. I must be at least a 7 in the homosexual world (hetrosexual world…my friends have told me that I register as a very solid 4). Gays make end runs for me. It’s downright embarrassing that I have this power. I know, I know, don’t knock it until you try it but I don’t like penises, and I don’t like body hair.
No, it’s supposed to be a little pink, he says. Well, I can’t wuss out in front of the gay guys (I’m not about to lose my 7 rating) so I take another bite. Now it’s downright cold. Oh god, suppress gag reflex. Can’t puke in front of gay guys. Must maintain homosexual street cred.
Finally the waitress comes over. I show her the lambballs and ask if it’s supposed to look like raw hamburger. She says she’s not sure but will ask. She takes my lamb balls. She doesn’t return until the next course. So…what happened with my lamb balls? “Would you like some more?” she asks. Gay guys are still staring.
No, not more lamb balls. She says okay. Returns five minutes later and says she has champagne, ‘on the house’. Oh, by ‘on the house’ do you mean course number six as described in the menu? ‘Yes’. Huh, not really on the house then, is it?
Luckily, champagne just makes me so…happy. It reminds me of bubbles, and it reminds me that I’m drinking champagne (errr…yeah). But I had pretty much checked out at that point (I have just eaten a big, red, squishy lamb ball…how would you do?) and I don’t even remember what else was on the menu.
The chef comes out and says ‘I throw myself on my sword’. Okay, as in a free meal? No, but how does $5 off sound? Wow, $5. You know, I could’ve gone to a frat house and eaten live goldfish for more than $5.
But at least I got ‘complimentary’ (read: I paid for it) champagne. And the gay guys, seriously, quit staring. Is that what women go through? I am not an object (wait, I think that’s actually always been my dream…)!
I know what you’re thinking. Don’t knock it until you try it. But friend, I can tell you that I DID try it. Oh yes, and I do not like it at all. Lamb meatballs are definitely not for me.