Holiday Feasts

Like all good Christians, I spent Christmas weekend at the Altar of Food praying to one dead, butchered beast or crustacean after another. At Chris Inskeep's Friday, pre-Christmas luncheon I could almost hear the choirboys singing as I walked up the isle of his garden to the Alter to Fine Taste. I naturally lied to myself when I proclaimed it would be the first and last feast of the holiday, but, then, I had no intention of entering a confessional unless someone hid my lobster bib in it as a prank. We feasted on all sorts of delights outside.

On Saturday Chris and I took a taxi to--God forbid--The Mainland. The Cathedral of Excess is located there, but some know it only as Ditmar Perner's home. Fourteen or fifteen worshippers were in attendance, although the dining pew only held twelve of us anointed ones; the others had to eat in the living room. The main course was divided into three dishes and after the last I felt very tired. Not helping was the fact that almost everyone was speaking German, Dutch, or Yiddish (at one point, I longingly glanced at the sole Latino, Lisandro, and wished he would utter something in a romance language.) I found myself staring at the soon-to-be-filled dessert plate. Ditmar was doing his best to keep the crowd entertained, but my mind was spinning in a swirl of guttural languages. I thought my nodding head might be taken as a silent moment of prayer, but I started to doze off somewhere in a haze between Fiddler on a Roof and Der Furher Bunker. And, then, S-L-A-P. Chris took the lead in my revival with a slap on my back, my head popped up, and he announced, "This gentleman is getting married in February!"

Nothing grabs the attention of a room full of gay men and woman like a wedding announcement and guests were once again speaking English with questions and congratulations. "Oy's" and "Ach's"became "Am I invited?', "Who is he?" Chris answered that one with, "He's a very handsome young man from Buenos Aires." and everyone squealed like pigs. Dessert was being served by Ditmar's maid, and I now had to contemplate the near impossibility of getting a cab in N.E. Miami at 11pm on Christmas Eve. The tears forming in my eyes were not ones of Christmas Freude as they were of taxi Furcht, but somehow we made it back.

On Christmas night there was the annual feast with the housemates, and their family; I awoke on Monday not a little guilty, but since I'm not Jewish it didn't bother me.

The road ahead? A lavish New Years Eve dinner with Chris at 8, joining Jeremy's table for The 7th's dinner (a dozen hot guys) at The Palace at Ten, and Chris's Recovery Breakfast tomorrow (something called a "Washington Menu). .