Mangez!, or The Gourmand's Tale

I have returned to my Eternal City, and I did it kicking and screaming. I really didn't want to, I wanted to work this summer- intern at a lab, and perhaps, be present when an anti-tumour vaccine was unsheathed. But Fate had other plans, and these, as I have now discovered, were meant for my betterment.

My last three weeks at university were excruciating: deadlines had to be met, finals had to be met (in combat), it was every-RA-on-deck as the residence halls made their last bustle before settling into canicular lassitude, and I was sick! This made a world of sense, as Hamlet said, since I was leading a eating/sleeping-optional type of lifestyle. The end result was that, while I met my paper deadlines alright, my exams were written hopped up on pain-killers and other drugs. I remember being very happy bubbling things into a scantron, thanks to the drugs, and that is all I do remember. For once, my grades have been a complete surprise, but a pleasant one, thankfully.

Battered, broken, and in need of home, I first went to Hamlet's. I love going to Hamlet's, and every time that I do, I wonder why I don't do so more often. It is such a welcoming, invigorating space! His charming parents, his clever, precocious sister, and Hamlet himself so serene! Plus, there's always the imperious Badi Begum! Oh, that was such an adventure! But that is yet a story for another time...Suffice it to say, my time at Hamlet's was needed to break me into vacation mode, and ease my transfer over to schedule-less days of luxurious, luxurious lounging.

My return to the Eternal City felt right the moment I stepped on to the airport, and was greeted by a dreamy looking Marion Cotillard doing her Lady Dior thing. Exuberant, exciting, decadent and delighting: I was home. My mother had a slight fit when she saw me: "Haven't you been eating?! You're so skinny!" I was somewhat heartbroken; I had expected my family to join me in my joy of finally having a waist again. But, not just them, a lot of people are of the opinion that I needed to "get healthy". This is a constant knell to my ears because I am paranoid. Being skinny has served me well, romantically speaking. God, God, I cannot go back to my fat-Elphaba days of yearning to wear certain things, and wondering why everyone wanted to be my friend and no-one wanted to fuck me. So far, I have been very politically correct about and around food: refusing things, or taking small portions, or sharing (rather generously) with my brother, much to his astonishment and my parents' disgruntlement.

My father, however, decided to reintroduce me to the aerial pleasures of fine dining. This was something I revelled in once, in what seems like an altogether different lifetime- an easy thing to do in a city that boasted of some of the finest restaurants in the world.

How I smiled and I glowed as my goblet was refilled- remember?

How I oohed, aahed over and debated the menu- remember?

How easily I was engaged in conversations with managers and chefs out on a visit- remember?

How I had nearly mastered the art of catching the waiter's eye- remember?

How coldly I'd send things back if they weren't done up to the perfection promised- remember?

Remember, I did, as we entered the restaurant done up in burnished sepia. The flutter of the napkin, the tinkling of the crystal, the dishes- aromatic, artful and arresting, daddy's booming laughter, my brother's insistence that a certain creation NEEDED to be ordered, the waiter extolling the virtues of tarragon and mango-powder...oh, it was as if I had been jolted back into place. My airs were back! To many, this would hardly seem celebratory, but I worry. I worry about how much I have changed, I worry about who I am becoming. As trite as this may seem, it is an important check-point that tells me that I can be two different people in what may as well be two different worlds. I checked myself as I found myself worrying about the prices, and then smiled inwardly: I never used to do this before! It was always, "Ah, let daddy handle it!", but this was something new!The food was magnificent, as was expected, and true to form, I found myself becoming the gourmand I was always was, and what does a gourmand do but gormandize?

As I sit before my computer now, typing out this blog-post, and finishing the sumptuous Haagen Dazs creation, I realise that I can do this. I can get used to nights that come alive at eleven rather than crooning a nocturne. I also realise that I shall recognise said nocturne's grey beauty when it plays for me again in three months' time. So, as I stand on the verge of embarking onto a Grand Romance of fire-opal evenings in the Eternal City, I thank my Spitsbergen for tempering me well.

Until the next time,

GossipGuy.

Coming Soon: Long-suffering fictional vignettes!