Menu choices of the Absurd

The setting was in every way extraordinary -- elegant, dignified, gentle while at the same time quietly assertive.  Perhaps its reputation had co-opted my objectivity, but I rather believe the restaurant truthfully was what it held itself out to be:  quite simply one of the finest restaurants in the world, at least as adjudged by the professional muses of such matters.  In Napa Valley for yet another foray into cooking, both our hosts at the B & B and our chef instructor for the week at the Culinary Institute of America had called attention to the place.  I, of course, had never heard of it before their mention, and I will leave it anonymous; more than a bit embarrassed to have indulged ourselves with such an extravagance.  If, however, a sin, it was a glorious one that we will never forget.   We were ushered to our "lovely table" that had been "prepared for us" as though we owned the place.  We tried to contain our giddy grins with the aloof air of people who frequent such destinations customarily, but I am confident that no one was deceived.  Any opaqueness was scrubbed when, after one particularly delirious course, I asked our demur server how she kept from giggling her way through each night's dinner.  "It is quite wonderful, isn't it" she replied. We were not, however, alone.  Behind our "lovely table" was another, occupied by a couple on whom the room's otherwise library-like decorum was quite lost.  They talked business  (the state of the global economy, for which the man of the table seemed to possess all the answers), politics (they were not independents or moderates), and wine.  By the end of the evening the sommelier had to be delighted to see them go, having dominated her time the entire evening with arcane questions of vineyard sites, vintages, lot numbers, colonial varieties and alcohol content.  Before the oenological carnage was finished, three opened bottles had been rejected and the fourth only tepidly approved.   But however annoying the pair was through the rest of the evening, they provided one enduring and delectable gem.  Surveying the rather adventuresome menu, the woman of the table almost yawningly observed, "it all looks interesting, though I am particularly drawn to the cocks comb and the trout.  Ah, but we so rarely have trout." And let's face it, cocks comb can become so tiresome night after night.   Smugness, the comment reminded me, no matter how elegant the setting, is ultimately oafish and demeaning.   Maybe that's one of the reasons Jesus counseled guests at a dinner to select the seats at the places of least honor.