Friday, November 04, 2005

Greater Tuna

I’m about to go to work. (I loathe my job. But that’s why it’s called a job, right?) I’m standing talking to the girl at her work, where she makes almost no money, but works there anyway because it’s a great place to work by all other means of discernment. Her co-worker Catherine is about to order dinner. She asks Em what she is going to have for dinner this evening.
“I’m having a bagel.”
In my head I think to myself, “That’s not a meal.” I leave a moment later and march into work early. I go up to the sous chef, who is my boy, and ask him to make a tuna to go. Our tuna is out of this world—black and white sesame crusted, seared rare, served over plump wild mushrooms and in a caper-brown butter sauce, all of which is finished off with a wasabi mayo drizzled on top. Men have killed other men over this tuna. And this was going to be the girl's dinner. Surprise gifts are better than any other kind. They’re unexpected and heart-warming.
I bring this to her. She sent me the picture above with this message: “How did I get to be so lucky?”


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