vinnie o'tool's whiskey brownies

"What's with all these crap-filled bottles?"

Looking around the restaurant, there was an abundance of said bottles. Filled with pickled things and oils and leaves. It seemed as though someone had tried to create an Italian atmosphere, but with all the dark wood and brass it looked more like an Italian-Irish mutt job.

"Of all the themes in the world to pick for a restaurant, who the hell would choose the cross-breeding of Europeans? ... Vinnie O'Toole." I commented, and soon after realized I'd done so a little too loud. Feeling curious eyes on me, I opened my menu and hid a little.

Jess shot a cocky glance at the couple at the table next to us who were eyeing us judgingly. She turned back quickly and asked, "Who the fuck is Vinnie O'Toole?"

"Vinnie O'Toole?"

"Yeah, you just said Vinnie O'Toole for what seemed like no good reason."

"I say a lot of things for no good reason. You never ask."

"Ok, slower then. Who... the... fuck... is... Vinnie... O'Toole?" She asked, underestimating my ability to annoy.

"You can ask as slow as you like. It still doesn't explain why all of a sudden you've taken an interest in my gibberish." It was beautiful. I smiled like the Grinch. Fucking beautiful.

"Fuck it. What're you ordering?" Jess gave up and picked up her menu.

"Vinnie O'Toole is an Italian-Irish fella. He came up with the Italian-Irish motif in this place." I humored her.

"... and you know this how?" She was starting to giggle a bit. This is a bad sign. When she giggles, I giggle and when I giggle, she laughs and when she laughs, she can't breathe. And as we're all fully aware, breathing is one of those vital things. I stay quiet for a few minutes, let her giggles subside and try not to giggle myself.

"Cheeseburger." I announce after a few minutes. It was quite oddly and unintentionally out of context considering I had stopped looking at my menu a while back. Jess just looked at me questioningly. I shrugged and she cracked up. I supressed my ambitious laughter and grabbed the dessert menu. I pretended only to be interested in sweets and the like, but she just continued to laugh. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I howled until the waitress came to take our drink orders, at which point Jess and I collected ourselves and attempted to act normal. We both ordered iced-tea, as usual, and then just shut up and looked around the place some more.

"No, seriously. Doesn't it look like they hired some 40 year old guy whose mother was an Italian and whose father was Irish?" I asked enthusiastically, after taking in more of the Irish woodwork and Italian preserves.

"Hired him to do what? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Vinnie! Vinnie O'Toole's father was born in Dublin, went to university in Italy, met and nailed Vinnie's mom and married her when she got knocked up. Then they moved to Vancouver, Canada, settled down. Vinnie's like our age I guess. Anyway, don't you think this place could have been designed by a Vinnie O'Toole? The Italian-Irish interior decorator." I'd gotten a little noisy again and hid in the dessert menu.

"Would that make him a homosexual Italian-Irish guy?" Jess whispered.

"What? Interior decorating?" I pretended to look astonished. "Surely Jess, you don't think all men who pick out wallpaper, paint and carpet for other people are gay?"

"Shut up." She raised a finger to her mouth, just as the waitress arrived with our drinks and took our dinner order.

"Danke." Jess and I said in unison. The waitress smiled her I-hate-you-but-please-tip-well-look and walked away.

"Vinnie's not gay. He's a fuckin' hotty, too. Black hair like his mom, green eyes and pale skin like his dad." I fanned myself with the dessert menu.

Jess rolled her eyes and remarked, "You know, we just covered like a million stereotypes in 10 minutes."

"So fucking what? Stereotypes aren't going to go away with a puny little political correctness movement. People are too touchy." I shook my head and added, "I'm a pasty honky!" deliberately loud and quickly hid behind the dessert menu again. This time I read it, tuning out the rest of the room. When I was done I popped my head up and exclaimed, "Dude! The brownies here have whiskey in 'em! Vinnie's Dad is the chef!"

"You're messed. Whiskey in brownies? Let me see that." She grabbed the menu from my hands. "Fuckineh, intoxicating dessert." Jess said, defeated. I guess she'd assumed I'd been fucking with her. We contemplated the idea of whisky brownies for a while and thus, silence fell.

The waitress brought our dinner soon enough and our mouths were too full to speak. We tend to eat like the world's going to end the next time the South Park writers kill off Kenny. I finished as much as I could, sucked the salt off my fingertips and said, "Noun, meaning dessert resulting in mild to severe inebriation. Check please?"

Currently listening: The Night's Bloom By Pinetop Seven

posted by Courtney at 2:59 p.m.

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