Foie Gras: The Gateway Drug to Yuppiness

It seems as if every night that a swank party is raging somewhere in Boston. I've obviously been hanging with the wrong crowd because while I read of fabulous ragers in the Inside Track, I've never actually been invited to one. For the record I still haven't, but Wellesley has, and last night I was his plus one arm candy at Banq in the South End.

The soiree in question was hosted by Tim Zagat, author of the Zagat restaurant guide. Since Zagat tends to focus on upscale restaurants that serve food I can't pronounce, we are not on intimiate terms. Personally, I'm more of a Yelp girl. However, there's nothing like the words "free food and alcohol" to get me motivated enough to leave the house on an overcast Tuesday night.

While queueing up at the bar I munched on cone shaped things that I later learned were filled with foie gras - it was divine. I probably could've chewed through a dozen of those little cones had I not been constantly thinking about what foie gras actually is. After downing a couple of Oban 14 year (thanks, Mr. Z!), I tried another appetizer that Wellesley described as "bunny". Since he was about as deep as I was, I honest-to-God thought he was messing with me. Note to self: Wellesley doesn't kid when he's talking about rabbit. Good to know.

Hanging with the Boston magazine crowd was a bit out of my comfort zone, but I definitely had a lot of fun. On the way home I described my evening to Nay, including my run-in with rabbit and foie gras, the gateway drugs to yuppiness. I was still grinning from ear-to-ear when Nay finally snapped "Are you fucking serious? That's wicked distgusting!". It takes a good friend to help you realize that while eating foie gras with fabulous people may be a rare delicacy, shouting a combo meal into a clown's mouth is certainly more my reality.

I don't expect my inbox to be flooded with private party invites nor do I expect to become a regular on the South End dining scene. I may have spent the last week getting schooled at the Four Seasons and Banq, but rest assured that I still have no idea what the fuck a short rib is, or why someone would want to eat it for that matter. Despite my ignorance on the finer things in life, the words "free food and alcohol" will continue to motivate me to get out there and enjoy my city (especially if they're uttered by Wellesley). That being stated, don't be surprised if I lay out a spread of fancy crackers and foie gras at my next ho down. After all, you're going to need something to nosh on while playing beer pong.