Aside from generally wanting to have an adventure, this steak night was partly in celebration of the return of our dear friend Rob, who was preoccupied with chemotherapy the last time we had our steak night outing. We drank, we ate, we laughed, we basically alienated every other person in the restaurant who thought they were going to have a nice quiet evening of steak and sangria. Typical evening.
When we all had our meals, Wes stood up to make a toast. Given that it had to be loud enough for all 21 of us to hear, it was also loud enough for the most of the rest of the diners to hear. It went a little something like this (read this with a thick Southern accent):
“I would like to make a toast to all of you. When our plane crashed in the Brazilian Amazon, we didn’t think that we would make it out alive. But… we banded together and made a raft out of twigs… and rowed ourselves out of that jungle!! And now here we sit to tell the story, reunited at last. Oh, and Rob’s here now because he don’t have cancer no more. Enjoy!”
Now, Wes generally tends to be really over the top in life, and this was certainly one of his finer (crazier?) moments. When he started, I foolishly thought he would say a sentence or two and laugh it off. Oh but I was wrong, and there we were, survivors of Brazilian Amazon plane crash. The rest of the people in the restaurant either thought we were really obnoxious or really incredible. I would not place a bet on the latter.
I rarely see my guy friends as happy as when they’re eating large quantities of food. And not like a REALLY BIG SALAD, but like… steak. Or greasy pizza. Or juicy burgers. They pretty much continued this trend, relishing each and every tender bite. I even have to admit, this steak is just unbelievable. My mouth may or may not be watering thinking about it.
Our waiter brought out a free round of port for all of us during dessert, and Wes once again stood to make a toast. Continuing with our “remarkable” story:
“This toast is for our pilot. He flew that plane well and though he died, we made it out alive because of his sacrifice, so we can thank him. Cheers!”
AWKWARD TURTLE. We cut Wes off after that.
Fully filled with sangria and steak, I talked to the waiter about how we could get to the train station. Apparently our waiter’s cousin works for a local hotel (HUGE tourism industry in
Trains back to
So we stayed. All of us. I think the whole “Do unto others” thing may have trumped in the end.
And watched the train back to civilization fade into the distance.
Making the best of situations, as we are often known to do, we remembered that there was a bar in the train station courtyard. Excellent way to pass the time. We walked downstairs and across the courtyard and what did we see? A sign on the door of THE ONLY BAR that read “Private Party. Sorry.” We weren’t really certain house serious they were by this “private” part and whether this excluded us from partaking in any alcohol from their facility, so we decided to venture in, en masse, to assess the situation. Well, really, the guys just made the girls go in and use our (ahem) womanly charms to gain entrée for the whole crew. As it turned out, this was a party filled with Polish twenty-somethings, many of whose English was, shall we say, not excellent. They were not so willing to share their vodka with a band of strangers, but we assured them we were not interested in THEIR alcohol, just SOME alcohol. Nope, sorry, we just can’t have it.
Their loss. Because their music was loud enough that our guys could dance like the whitest of white boys right outside the windows of the bar, partying like it’s 1999. The Poles really regretted not letting us in, I’m certain of it. We took some group photos to document our long hard stay, courtesy of my new friend the Policeman from
But eventually long lost Nye showed up. So the friendly Policeman took another round of photos to celebrate that Nye was alive. Then joined in himself, since he kind of took a liking to our ragamuffin bunch. Then listened to Wes tell stories about his teaching adventures in an unnamed
A night we will not soon forget and one that makes me laugh out loud sometimes (invariably in public places, because really, what place in NYC isn’t public, giving my neighbors in the subway/park/book store/coffee shop cause to think I’m that wacky cracked out girl) just thinking about it. Here are a few pictures to capture the ridiculousness of the evening.