The windows of the narrow row house were securely covered with thick black cloth and the closest neighbors had been handsomely paid to refrain from phoning in to report the unlawful culinary gathering.
Flatware tinkled like wind chimes and upsurges of raucous of laughter added to the air of expectancy as the sensibilities of those present were teased with the rich, luscious aroma of meat.
Inside the hip, ultra-private, underground supper club, two chefs labored to plate the first course of the Nose-to-Snout meal. Stark white porcelain demi dishes provided the foundation for petite piles of mixed greens topped with slices of sweet soft persimmons, plump pink pomegranate seeds, and crumbly croutons. A simple oil and vinaigrette dressing added just a touch of flavor to the plant matter before steaming, melt-in-your-mouth strips of pork belly were artfully arranged on top.
A hush fell over the impatient patrons as a tall willowy brunette strolled to the center of the room. Dressed in a sheath of black satin, she brought Morticia Adams to the forefront of more than a few minds. “We’re not going to describe the food tonight until after you’ve enjoyed it.” Her velvety voice delivered each word in a leisurely pace.
“What I will describe are the ingredients in the cocktail that we paired with this dish.” Elevated eyebrows enhanced eyes that sparkled with mischief, “Whoever is the first to shout out its name will win a prize.”
Servers wearing black and white striped tights under French maid style mini-skirts entered carrying trays laden with tumblers partially filled with amber liquid. They moved efficiently as they set glasses at each table setting.
“Bourbon, bitters, water and sugar…” The hostess craned her neck to peer expectantly at the bemused faces staring blankly back at her. “What? No mixologists in the house?”
Glasses raised to lips as the mystery beverage was sipped. The hostess smiled when she observed the blooming of euphoric expressions. Behind her, she heard one woman remark to another. “Oh! I remember my parents letting me try this when I was a kid. It tastes like Christmas.”
Spreading her hands wide and raising her shoulders, she exclaimed, “Really? No one remembers this?”
A baritone shouted out from deep in the kitchen, “It’s an Old Fashioned!”
A collective, ‘I-should-have-known’ groan broke out. “Not to worry,” she said, “we can try again in the next round.”
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Story Prompt: WriteOn weekend challenge 1/29/16: in 500 words or less – “Revival” – imagine what happens when a character tries to revive an outdated fashion.
Inspiration: A meal served at Polly’s Paladar, a private supper club.
Redfern Writes 