International Glamor Puss

My partner/boyfriend Jess is infatuated with a drag queen named Hedda Lettuce. She bills herself as a "Drag Comedienne and International Glamor Puss." Jess became acquainted with her last year. Most evenings, she could be found in front of the Provincetown Art House Theater, plugging her show. Fridays when I was taking the fast ferry from Boston to Provincetown, Jess would always walk down to the pier to greet me, as if I were coming home from a tour in Iraq or something. This Art House, and I use the term very loosely, is halfway between our place and the pier. So, Jess had occasion to walk past Miss Lettuce, sans boyfriend, on a regular basis.

I'm not exactly sure what transpired between the two of them every Friday night before my arrival. But on the return trip from the pier to the apartment, Ms. Lettuce would definitely pay Jess special attention as we walked by. Batting her eyelashes, she would call out, "Hey big boy," or "How's it hangin', stud?" Having your partner/boyfriend pursued by a drag queen is the definition of not feeling threatened. I found their flirtation amusing and sweet, so I didn't mind that Jess always made us walk by on Hedda's side of the street.

As the season drew to a close, so did Hedda's run at the Art House. Walking by, on the last weekend of her show, Hedda dropped out of character and seemed legitimately concerned, "Are you ever coming to see me?!" Jess promised that we would be in the audience on Sunday night, her very last show.

But alas, on Sunday night our bloodstream was full of alcohol and our bellies full of food. We fell asleep on the couch. Actually, I fell asleep on the couch. Try as he might, Jess couldn't rouse me from my drunken slumber. As a testimate to his undying love for me, Jess remained by my side. He never made it to Hedda's show.

Jess was very much looking forward to seeing Ms. Lettuce this season. She wasn't scheduled to appear in P-town until the week of the 4th of July. That week rolled around, and her shows were mysteriously missing from the theater's schedule. Jess was gravely concerned, convinced that Hedda had fallen into a deep depression after he betrayed her. Hedda has since been re-booked, with a very limited number of performances. This was supposed to be her opening weekend, but we did not see Ms. Lettuce on our walk from the pier.

Maybe Jess was right. Maybe she is broken-hearted.

Something Smells Fishy

Two Days after taking Jess and me on a fishing excursion, Chuck caught this tuna...

He's sending tuna steaks our way for dinner tonight. Mmmmmm!

I Love a Good Pork!

Last night Jess and I attended a birthday dinner for our friend Steve. Steve is an adventurous gastronome and had recently expressed his desire to attend a traditional Chinese "wedding banquet." This is a big, family-style meal that is organized not just for weddings, but for any special occasion where family and friends gather to dine and celebrate.

Steve doesn't know a lot of Chinese people who are getting married, so his wife Kira arranged last night's dinner at China Pearl in Woburn, MA. Jess and I were almost the first to arrive. Jason had arrived before us, but was so skeptical he was at the right restaurant, was backing out of his parking space when we saw each other. "Are we sure this is the right place?" he asked. The parking lot was virtually empty, and the sign on the side of the restaurant read "Ch na ". (No "i". No "Pearl".)

We chatted with Jason for a minute and of course headed straight to the bar. "This place does have a bar, right?" A sweet but potent Mai Thai eased our concerns while Jason went back outside for some fresh air. The rest of the party arrived shortly thereafter (except for our friend Matt whose punctuality is legendary) and the banquet began.

The first wave of appetizers arrived. A platter of pork, chicken, duck, and beef. "It looks like head cheese," Jason said of the "beef."

Jess struggled with a mouthful, "It looks like what?"

"Like it was sewn together," Jason elaborated.

Jess politely swallowed (not the first time he's done that) and switched to the pork.

The Easter Bunny is DEAD!

Anatomy of the Spring Hare


and how to cook him...

Sleeping with the Enema

Jess and I have a rule. We call it "Die in Car Crash/Die in Sleep". Basically, it means we don't part company or go to sleep angry with one another. 'Cause who knows when one of us might get hit by a city bus or choke in the night on our vomit? (Choking on someone else's vomit, while possible, is not likely to happen in one's sleep.)

Did we break our rule last night? Jess got home around 7:30, about twelve hours after he left for work. His nourishment for the day had been a six-ounce can of V-8. I began to prepare dinner, which was improvisational to say the least. I wasn't sure exactly what I was doing with the ingredients on hand. I began a series of starts and stops. Do I grill the beef or saute it? Corn or flour tortillas? I was twitching like an epileptic under a strobe light.

Jess' blood sugar must have been lower than my blood alcohol content was high. He lit gas burners underneath empty pots and pans and flailed his arms about wildly. With my typical degree of composure, I screeched "Wait a minute!" Jess said "Fine!" and stormed off. I continued making dinner which was excellent, I must say. But I didn't say anything and he didn't say anything.

Jess cleared our plates and I stayed seated. He sat down at the computer to do some work or perhaps cruise around on Manhunt.com. I fell asleep on the couch. Jess cleaned the kitchen, and sometime after 10:00, roused me from the couch to get into bed. Not another word was said.

But I don't think this was a violation of our rule. We know each other so well by now. Jess needs to be silent when he gets mad. And over the years (seven of them), I have learned to repress my innate need to "TALK ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW!" I know Jess is stressed out right now because of work. And Jess knows I was right. I woke up this morning at 5:15. I kissed him on the cheek like I always do. He made a smooch noise, half asleep like he always does. And just now as I am writing this, he comes into the room and sits on my lap. I wrap my arms tightly around him; rest my chin on his shoulder; wrap my legs around his. And we are best friends again, just like we always are.

Baby Cow Leg Tastes GOOD!

Veal. Who cares if they spend their lives in crates? It's not like foie gras geese who are force fed until their livers rupture (although I would eat that two if I liked the way it tasted.) I made Osso Bucco for the first time on Saturday and it was delicious. Jess and I have found ourselves a butcher. His name's Bill and he works at John Dewar & Company in Newton Centre. He's "one of us," meaning he's gay (not an alcoholic.) We made Grilled Tuna Steak Teriyaki the following night, and while it was perfectly prepared, I did not care for the tuna-teriyaki combo. I'm new to the whole fish thing anyway (eating fish, not pussy.)

I'm off for a Physical Therapy appointment at 7:30 this AM. Gotta remember to shave my tits. Don't want Joe to see the stubble when he does the ultrasound on my shoulder...

Thank God We Live Close to a Bar!

We put on our shit-kickers last night and trudged through the snow to The Alchemist. It was a grueling 1500 feet, door-to-door. Upon arrival, we rewarded ourselves with a libation. Eschewing the Guiness and Newcastle, we opted for delicately colored cocktails--my usual Cosmo and Jess' usual Pineapple Martini. MANLY!

Our favorite bartender John was not at his usual post. Luckily he arrived just in time to guide the bartender on duty through the pineapple martini creation. I guess John wasn't working cos he's working a double today--St. Patrick's Day. God help him!

We scarfed down a Roasted Chicken and Lyonnaise Potato Flatbread and Braised Beef over House-Made Parpadelle Noodles. Then we bundled up and walked home. I had a sweet-tooth so I whipped up a batch of Molten Chocolate Mini-Cakes with whipped cream. Jess only had one, but I had two.

I can't understand why I'm getting fat!