Jon Bon Gourmand #1: A Venture to the Old

Bless the blessed feast upon which your are beholden. Nay, bless Jove for the mere sight of it

On a day looked down on by Jove and blessed accordingly, I happened unto a restaurant, a place frequented by many, yet until now, not I. So into this blessed place I stepped. A beastly hunger suddenly descended into the pits of my soul. A fair maiden of the establishment presented me with words that were the healing of my ailment of sore hunger. “How may I help you?” vocalized the fair seraph. These words sent to me by the same force that brought me to this heavenly place.

Bless me I answered her bless me with the grand venison that mortal men need bare a God’s skin to taste. Embrace me I answered her, embrace me with the loaves baked for the sovereign yet that mere peasants are graced to gain a whiff of. And if there be drink then by heaven’s sake drown me, drown me so that I may never breathe again cruel air, bring that nectar hither and make it so that the taste never departs my tongue.

“Would you like fries with that?” asked the lady. Yes I demanded let there be fries, let their be fries till the heavens forget the scent of rain and know only the gleam of the potato in its highest form.

So I waited. “Good things come to those who wait,” as I was told in my days of innocence. Yet as I stood there I could not help but be overwhelmed as Chronus punished me. Standing there, the only interloper between myself and a tasteful mistress, a torrent of indulgence, a feast I was in no way worthy of, a blessed blissful bacchanalia for my palate. Curse you clock, I declared.

In that moment came my deliverance from persecution. The same hands that molded a bridge to my devotion and I, were the same hands that took me from my pain. It was that same fair angel who handed me to joy that emancipated me with the words “5.19 please.” The clouds in the sky parted, the sun showed joyfully upon my countenance, the birds of the skies sang a song of praise, the diligent ants stopped in their work to admire a moment of joy that would bring tears to the most hardened of men.

With trembling hands I reached into my pocket, searching for parchment that was vapid and valueless in every manner compared to the gift I was to receive. My fortunate fingers arrived upon the item that was to be happily given away in exchange for a blessing fashioned in the heavens and drenched in golden springs.

However as I gazed upon the object intended as the dowry for my waiting mistress, I came upon the realization that this was not the correct amount. I looked into the face of the homely Washington, I felt myself yearning for the handsome gaze of the liberator. Yet the Washington sat there mocking me with its meager, pitiable value. Utterly unworthy of occupancy within my trousers. In a fit of potent rage I destroyed the Washington and spread its ashes upon the ground. Many would come to the spot where I stood and know of the demise of the Washington.

What was I now to do? I turned my gaze to the angel that had delivered me twice before, perhaps there was another liberation within her purse. My foundation was shaken to hear her bluntly refuse. Suddenly I saw the true visage of the wench I had called an angel. Indeed I stood before a she-demon in disguise. How cruel, how evil how vile of a woman, nay a wench to ask how she may aid me, waive the aid in front of mine own eyes and snatch the remedy away, leaving me to stand in the pain of my disease.

I was not to be denied. A force came over me, it was the desire for what I was being denied and I began roaring at the foul woman. “Hear now harlot, you will give me the goods of this house, now, and I will vow to not have at you.” The beast scoffed at my words “Pay or get out” she challenged. The force that had came over me now left, leaving present only the longing to be with my maiden. I begged, I plead, and then the wench said “you can always pay with a credit card.”

Joyous me, I mouthed, the graces of Jove had returned to my predicament and my mistress was handed to me.