Still swamped, still dreaming of that dinner party we had almost two months ago. Between crazy work projects and trips to San Diego, Palm Springs, Chicago and Orange County, we’ve barely had time to breathe, much less cook or (heavens forfend) entertain. That said, we did manage to squeeze in one wee dinner party to celebrate the waning days of summer, and had one notable success: A soup-slash-aperitif made from heirloom tomato water, muddled basil, chipotle vodka, Vya sweet vermouth and a drool of very good olive oil. Maybe next year I’ll give it a proper writeup.
Lucky for me, there are still plenty of people with good ears (or bad boundaries) out there willing to share their overheard goods with me. Won’t you be my nosy neighbor? Send in your tidbits in to eatsdropper-at-seantimberlake-dot-com.
Two young women waiting to be seated
Woman 1: What if that’s our table?
(Hostess seats another couple instead)
Woman 2: I knew it wasn’t. I always have third sense.
Woman ordering focaccia at a farmer’s market:
"I’ll have a fellatio, please."
Woman explaining her tasting selection
"I like the ones in the blue bottles. The blue bottles
Unseen diner, being seated in a dark dining room:
"I feel like I should be fastening a seatbelt."
Woman looking over a brunch menu containing both Asian and Western items:
"So, at night they mainly serve Vietnamese?"
"Oh, I’m pretty sure they’ll serve anyone."