plum wine and raw meat

Last night was one of the most extraordinary dinner experiences of my life. It is common in this industry to have sales reps take our team out (mani/pedis, dinners, broadway shows, concerts, sports games, etc) - and last night was no different.

I chose Jewel Bako (which means "jeweled box" as the decor supports). Someone recommeneded it, in addition to being Critic's choice by the Times. The reps arrived at our offices in a limo, with bottles of Veuve Clicquot. We arrived at the restaurant on the lower east side, only to discover it's very intimate, glowing space. We were invited in, and I started to realize that maybe our group of eight (predominately fun-loving advertising women and a gay man from LA) might be a handfull for the local Manhattanites to our left and the kissing couples on our right. No matter. There was only one thing to do: slosh down 3 flutes of sparkling plum sake per course to numb the social faux pas.

There were 5 courses of raw rish. I was officially in Japan. We ordered omakase (at the suggestion of our LA friend who spent several years in Japan) and the tailored waiters brought us endless plates of raw meat to the point where I thought I might lose it entirely. My mouth was gaping when I saw the black, beady-eyed shrimp tragically looking up at me.



Big surprise, the night became even more bizarre, as do most of these drunken, dinner debacles. Someone took their fake teeth out at dinner (almost choked on the plum in my glass). We discussed the Morman religion, sexual pleasure, and how hungry dogs are.

*Verbatim quote*: "My dog is so hungry, when I unzip my pants, he thinks it's a zip-lock bag".

I'm still not sure what that means. I feel like death warmed over this morning - but I'm glad the sugar plum rush is gone.