After a Fashion
You wouldn't think that an event so oozing with testosterone would displease Stephen so. Well, you'll just have to read to find out.
By Stephen MacMillan Moser, Fri., June 23, 2006
QUOTE "Why don't Southern girls like group sex?" Says New York Times writer Alex Witchell in Liz Smith's column, "Too many thank-you notes!"
THE GAME Among the things I will never do again (like chewing broken glass or wearing Capri pants and flip-flops) is have dinner in the bar at Matt's El Rancho on Father's Day – and it had nothing to do with Matt's! It started off innocently enough at 5:15pm. The hostess ushered my mother, sister, and me to our table in the dining room, but the table was intercepted by another hostess who sat a party there as we arrived at it. Our hostess was apologetic and asked if we minded sitting at the bar. Having been seated at the bar on several occasions and having had a lovely time, I said, "Oh, yes, that will be fine." And it was fine – cool and dark and quiet (and had none of the rambunctious children that the dining room had) – with only the murmur of the televisions showing the final round of the U.S. Open Championship, in which, as you might have guessed, I had zero interest. We had excellent service from our waiter, who was quick, pleasant, and attentive. Within minutes, the restaurant became noticeably more crowded as it seemed the Father's Day witching hour had arrived – entire families in ball caps, polo shirts, and shorts rolling in on their way to the patio. Fearing the rush, we ordered quickly. The tables in the room became completely filled, but things progressed in an orderly manner. As our first course arrived, there was an occasional groundswell of reaction to the golf game – the sort of reaction you'd expect for a golf game. OK, I would have been happier if they were showing Mildred Pierce, but they weren't. As we were finishing our first plates, I noticed a trickle of ball-capped men coming in from the patio and lingering near our table to watch the game. The Game. It doesn't matter what kind of game it is to guys like this, as long as it's a game, and there are two people duking it out in some fashion on the screen. As our entrées arrived, the waiter had to sidle through the ever-growing assembly to serve us; it became slightly uncomfortable. The crowd had grown noisy and large enough that they were now pressing on the back of my mother's chair and leaning on the empty one next to her, including a gawky 13-year-old who didn't even have the common courtesy to keep his eyes on the screen but kept examining our food. I began to feel ill-mannered for not asking them to sit down and join us. By then, every time something notable would occur in the game, the quiet murmuring had become full-fledged hooting and hollering like we were in a sports bar after the Rose Bowl. I asked my sister (or rather, yelled across the table to her), "Is it that every one of these people is truly obsessed with golf enough to abandon their families outside?" And every time they'd erupt in their raucous cheers, Gawky would take the opportunity to monitor our food and wipe his nose. The cheers were accompanied by the ubiquitous "Hook 'em Horns" sign (excuse me guys, this golf game has nothing to do with UT), and if they'd been oozing any more testosterone it would have gotten all over my enchiladas. It's a goddamn golf game, I thought to myself. If we didn't have the TV, they'd probably be out in the parking lot beating one another with clubs! The crowd grew so unruly that it felt like we were dining al fresco on the 50 yard line during the Super Bowl. Our waiter came to check on us, and I asked him, "Do you think there's anything you can do to disperse these interlopers that are interfering with our meal?" He was great; he just turned and said authoritatively, "OK, move it guys, folks are trying to eat here." Though we were able to relax enough to no longer feel like we were in some competitive-eating sport, the rabble continued their shrieking, cheering, and yelling, even though it was unclear if they had any idea who was playing golf … just that it was a "game." We finished eating and left quickly. I even skipped using the men's room, fearing it would actually be a locker room, and I'd be forced to do calisthenics or get popped with a wet towel. As someone once said, I don't hate sports, I just hate sports fans.
AGENDA Saturday, June 24, 7pm, Kisma Hair Co. & Spa (10225 Research #310 in the Great Hills Station Shopping Center) presents Fashion for Fur, a fashion show to benefit Lago Vista PAWS Animal Shelter featuring clothes by Sola, and great hair and make-up by Kisma. There will be music, food, drinks, a live auction, and animal adoptions… Tuesday, June 27, 7-9pm, don't forget my Bling & Bellinis party at which you're invited to wear all your favorite jewelry at once while swilling a couple of cocktails and watching a mini fashion show while perusing perfectly delightful home decor items with a real Hollywood actress in attendance. Yes, I'm hosting a Southern Living at HOME party. Go to www.southernlivingathome.com/brendasplace to see the goods. Write me at [email protected] for further info.
