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Walking down to where we rehearse, I was disgruntled. I had to wear a dress for this gig, and I have no long dresses in my closet that are not black. Eric said "Sunday dress," which means something I would wear to church. I don't go to church, but I think I got the idea, and it wasn't black. So I have to wear the only dress in my closet which is not black, and it is slightly below my knee. Horrendously short. Which means I had to shave my legs. Ugh. And it would be cold. Frustration abounded. I had not eaten dinner, because apparently they only served breakfast today. However, after rehearsing, rushing to the President's house, discovering they were 45 minutes behind so we had to wait, driving to my house for a pitch pipe, and coming back, there was food and my mood had improved.
White asparagus with sorghum and caviar and some sort of sour-creamish dressing was the salad, and it barely filled up the tiny plate, but it was pretty. Caviar is not all it's cracked up to be. Salty vinegary little balloons of fluid. Hm. But then came the main course, and as musicians back in the drawing room we got it before anyone else. Rare beef, artichoke hearts wrapped in lean bacon, barley with saffron, and three shrimp, each with a little pile of seafoodish seasoning on top. And dessert. Pistachio cakes, hot and gooey in the middle, with an artistic swish of chocolate syrup to drive it around in and a small pile of candied pistachios on the edge. I ate my own and half of Jennifer's. Eric and Max ate the other quarter of Jennifer's. I won. And then we sang.
Musician is the best job. No one expects you to be high-class, but you go to the events anyway. I just went to the fanciest dinner party ever, and I didn't have to know the rules of society. It was disgustingly civilized, but we ate our food behind the drawing room and didn't have to keep elbows off the table or anything. Reception dinner for the President of Rice. I did resent having to wear a dress, but the food was good enough to make up for it.
( I am a smith! Behold the wonders of my fame! )
White asparagus with sorghum and caviar and some sort of sour-creamish dressing was the salad, and it barely filled up the tiny plate, but it was pretty. Caviar is not all it's cracked up to be. Salty vinegary little balloons of fluid. Hm. But then came the main course, and as musicians back in the drawing room we got it before anyone else. Rare beef, artichoke hearts wrapped in lean bacon, barley with saffron, and three shrimp, each with a little pile of seafoodish seasoning on top. And dessert. Pistachio cakes, hot and gooey in the middle, with an artistic swish of chocolate syrup to drive it around in and a small pile of candied pistachios on the edge. I ate my own and half of Jennifer's. Eric and Max ate the other quarter of Jennifer's. I won. And then we sang.
Musician is the best job. No one expects you to be high-class, but you go to the events anyway. I just went to the fanciest dinner party ever, and I didn't have to know the rules of society. It was disgustingly civilized, but we ate our food behind the drawing room and didn't have to keep elbows off the table or anything. Reception dinner for the President of Rice. I did resent having to wear a dress, but the food was good enough to make up for it.
( I am a smith! Behold the wonders of my fame! )
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