Our eyes meet just outside the entrance way. I can feel it's him. There is a certain energy to someone when they are waiting for a blind date. A certain energy that is very unmistakable. He knows it's me too -- my face has a habit of giving away all. Meet Jacob. He's very friendly and right away I feel at ease in his presence. He's tall, dark, and handsome, and by all accounts doesn't look as old as 40. (How old does a 40-year-old look anyway?) Getting back to the point. He hugs me right away and says, "after you."
Now it's time to meet Daniel. Daniel currently holds spot #29 on the top 50 restaurants in the world. Daniel is the meal of my dreams. There is something intangible in the air as you walk through the revolving doors on 65th street. This is a place of privilege. The opaque doors shut behind us, blocking out a world a little less elegant. As we make our grand entrance (yes it is grand) it's as if we have box seats at a highly revered opera.
Assuming are positions, I'm instructed there is a pouf for my purse. Did everybody catch that? There is a pouf for my purse. Meaning my purse has a wee little seat. Fancy. We are greeted by a number of different waiters, each they're own part to play in this highly rehearsed performance of The Dinner. Each player has his or her lines that must be delivered with alacrity and precision. Every gesture, every motion is infused with hospitality I'm assuming one could only learn at a school. There are no miss-steps with the choreography, each flick of the menu is on mark, every pour on key. The performance begins with some canapés followed quickly by an amuse bouche. Cauliflower Royale so light and airy, it evaporates instantaneously on my tongue. Our conversation shifts to matters of the menu, it is now time to decide.
"What are your hesitations if you get the sunchoke and the beef?" "Are oysters a good move?" Menu envy must be avoided at all costs (that dreaded moment where the other person clearly has the much better dish). Jacob and I both seem to understand how serious this is and at the same time laugh at the triviality of it all, I mean worse comes to worse we don't like the caviar right?
He decides upon the beef duo, I decide on the veal. "Oh no, that's not cutlery", he says, "that is an instrument for tasting sauces."
"Of course...of course." (How could I be so stupid?)
Looking around the room I decide my date and I blend in perfectly, we wear it well, luxury. His jet-black hair sprinkled every so lightly with a hint of grey (yes grey). His cheekbones, strong and defined, but his eyes are so big and soft, a sad brown. And my favourite, his arms -- strong, sturdy, god forbid there was a house fire this man could carry me out of the building no problem. Needless to say I like him and I don't want to jinx it, but I think he likes me too. We recount the weirdest things we've ever eaten.
"I once had to eat a sheep's head for a magazine article," I say.
"You write?"
"I dabble."
"How was it?"
"Honestly, I fake ate it. It was too gross."
He ate an eyeball in Turkey once. We laugh and say 'yes' to another round of bread. Similar to the performance on-stage, there are no awkward pauses, no suffocating silences, no forced emotions. My date and I seem to understand one another, or as much as anyone could in under an hour. The temperature in the room shifts as our mains arrive. The conversation hits a stand still. You just can't speak when you're eating veal that tender, it ruins it.
Milk Fed Veal, Roasted Tenderloin with Sunchoke and Parsnip, Braised Cheeks with Creamy Polenta, Caramelized Onion, Crispy Sweetbreads & Green Peppercorn Sauce.
Coming face to face with the meal of my dreams, there is a part of me that can't appreciate it in the moment; it's just to good to be true. I re-live the moment again and again, the rich supple veal, lush polenta, the velvety sweetbreads. Similarly is that moment when you first meet someone special. You never forget that moment. How there hair was, the sound of their voice, what they said, how they seemed so nice, so attentive. You re-live it and would give up anything to go back to it. That moment when things were perfect. If I could freeze it, this beginning I'm certain I would love this man forever.
I felt a strong attraction to Jacob since I first laid my pretty little eyes on him. He tells me he's a lawyer but doesn't like to talk about work. I pry and he tells me he wrote a book once on electronic evidence. He says its long and boring and no one sane would ever read it. He's funny. I wouldn't peg him as the type, with his sharp features and sad brown eyes, but the way he talks about his work makes me laugh. It sounds like he doesn't take serious things very seriously. A winning attribute for sure. No one likes a short-tempered asshole. Everything he says and does seems fascinating to me, even his mothers obsession with knitting cat sweaters. Halfway through the meal he asks me why I'm smiling.
"Why are you smiling?" I counter playfully.
"Because I'm looking at you."
I can hear the audience "awing" now. I realize this is date one but dare I be romantic and predict this to be the man of my dreams? Has this penniless girl found herself the winning combination? The man of my dreams and the meal of my dreams?
He'll call me, he says. I act aloof and like I don't care, but I do care. This man was somehow different from the rest. He's opened my eyes to a new world of possibilities, a new world that I want so desperately to be a part. His pea coat, his stature, his class, I want it all. Uh oh. I'm having second thoughts. Was it all to good to be true? Is Daniel a one-time thing? An anniversary, a splurgy birthday, your one and only job promotion? As I head towards the subway, the frigid air slapping me hard in the face, I have this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach (maybe it's just caviar belly?) that I will be back. This is not the first and last time Jacob will be hearing from me. I don't even have his number. Crap.
I decide it's best to continue the night with some friends. Take my mind off men and meals if only for a moment, but alas the mind wanders. Jacob doesn't have my number, why would he say he'd call me? Maybe he mistakenly thought he had it? Why didn't I say something? What would I say? The night ended so abruptly on the street when he offered to get me a cab. No kiss, only a hug. I mean really what's a girl to think? This time I have no clue. The night ends at a pizza joint. My dreams of grandeur slowly erode as I slip into a hard plastic booth and reality clicks in.
Is the whole world in love except me?
MORE ON HUFFPOST:
