Friday, April 30, 2010

Mahi Mah's

We had a gift card and so we went, my husband and I, to dine at the locally renowned Mahi Mah's, oceanfront, Virginia Beach.

The valets were adorable, the host staff lovely, our waitress was a doll. Then the food came. Jesus God, the food, if you can call it that, came and the pleasure of watching fit young people and fat middle aged people move along the boardwalk; the beauty of the almost waveless blue ocean lapping the tawny sands; the hilarity of eavesdropping on the conversation at the next table all evaporated.

We shared a beet salad. It was fine, though roasted beets should be somewhat soft and, I think, warm. The cheese bowl was *really* good. That was a base hit. Then I got my broiled seafood platter and Mark his gigantic ribeye steak. The waitress specifically requested "medium rare, more on the rare side," when she sent the order back. What Mark got was medium well. He sent it back and then? The chef sent a waiter back with the same damned steak to tell my husband that it was fine and medium rare! Which, for what it's worth, it wasn't. Medium rare entails a red, warm center and this steak had a warm, slightly pink center but was cooked to gray most of the way through.

Once we managed to close our jaws and had sent the steak back to the kitchen, we continued sharing my mediocre  seafood platter. The huge hunk of flounder was flavorless and the shrimp were undercooked. The clincher though, was when I chomped down on a piece of broccoli and it was crunchy. No, I don't mean broccoli crunchy, I mean 'there's something freaky in my mouth' crunchy. When I looked down at my plate and noticed the fifty-cent piece sized pile of mud, it became very clear what I had found so repugnant.

The poor waitress apologized profusely and credited both our meals. We paid for the drinks and salad, left her a $24 tip and hit the road to find some real food. We wound up at Eurasia on Laskin Road. We dined al fresco. Cigar, wine and carpaccio chased by some delicious apple fritters and all of our hungers were quenched. Hallelujah! Post on that coming later.

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No NAIS!

Crossroads

On the day of my 45th birthday

this poem was published in the

Sanctuary at the Women's

Colony. I love it and thank

the author, Joyce Sutphen,

for writing this poem honoring

the process of living a life

beyond youth.

Crossroads


The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.

The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers sifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys in into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.

The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.


~Joyce Sutphen
Straight Out Of View, New Rivers Press

My Readers, I love them!