Anyone who spends a decent amount of time in the Tampa Bay area, and is a fan of the culinary arts, knows that if you are going to impress someone, you take them to Bern’s Steakhouse. It’s legendary, and a place everyone in the area should go to at least once. Or twice. Or however many times you can afford it. And if you don’t feel like getting a second mortgage just so you can pay for your dinner, then you skip the meal and head upstairs to their famous dessert room. Most restaurants simply hand you a menu with a few sweet offerings on it. Bern’s devotes their whole upstairs to satisfying the sweet teeth of anyone who enters.
I had been once, years before, with Carrie. It was an anniversary dinner, after she had gotten sick. Bittersweet was how I distinctly remember the night feeling.
But, this wasn’t going to be a bittersweet night at all. I wanted to celebrate the fact that April now had a full-time job at the school. I wanted to celebrate the fact that I would now get to see her every single day just about, even when her husband got back and things weren’t as free. I wanted to celebrate the fact that I had gotten to be inside her, and it was fucking awesome.
Plus, April had mentioned once during lunch around the faculty table how she had wanted to try Bern’s ever since she had moved to the area. Most of the teachers at Lakefront had never been, but they all knew April would get plenty of opportunities to go, what with her famous husband making good money. Little did they know, I was going to be the first one to take her.
I used the valet service, and we walked into the lavishly decorated entryway. Her eyes were big and bright, and it was obvious she hadn’t been anywhere quite that unique. Reds and golds surrounded us, as well as photos of people that could have been displayed at Disney’s Haunted Mansion. I always felt like I was walking through a more ornate version of Gosford Park, right down to the staff that was hustling and bustling about. They always stayed out of the way though, in the shadows, letting the diner take in their surroundings.
“This is wild,” she said as we were led to our table.
April was wearing a sexy and simple red dress. The eyes of men all over the restaurant, and a few women, were following her as we reached the table.
“You really do look lovely tonight,” I said as we sat down. I had told her this when I picked her up, but she needed to hear it at least five more times. “And judging from the looks of things, I am not the only one who thinks so.”
“Oh stop,” she said, placing her napkin in her lap.
“Well, it’s true. Everyone was looking, even the women.”
“You are the one I want with their eyes on me,” she said, smiling. “And a few other things.”
“We could skip all of this,” I said, bending down to speak into her ear. “I’d rather have you in my mouth than anything on this menu.”
To my enjoyment, her face turned red and her top teeth clutched at her lower lip.
“After,” she said. “We will play after dinner.”
I could live with that.
Martin was our server’s name, and I didn’t like him. For starters, I could see his nose hair, which is the most off-putting thing in the world. You should never be able to see a man’s nose hair, but if there is nose hair to be seen, odds are I would always see it. It’s like my eyes zero right in on it. You might as well wear a t-shirt that says I have no personal hygiene. I wanted to hand him tweezers and tiny scissors and tell him to come back in ten minutes. And his French-ish accent didn’t sound genuine. I could imagine him going out back for a smoke and talking like one of the Goodfellas.
Maybe I was being too harsh.
I was going to pay good money for this; I could be critical.
Martin went off to bring our wine, and we placed an order for an appetizer. I had convinced April to try the steak tartare, although I had been worried she would turn her nose up at it.
“My family used to eat menudo, Luke,” she had said. “If I can handle cow stomach, I can handle raw meat.”
Martin’s wine suggestion for the tartare was a disappointment. Even April made a face when she took a drink from her glass. Maybe we weren’t sophisticated enough to appreciate it. The steak was delicious though.
Then it came time for more steak, this time of the cooked variety. April surprised me by ordering the Delmonico, and I got the Strip. Martin suggested we order the Okinawan sweet potato as one of our sides, and when I took my first bite, I wanted to hug him and adopt him as a brother. He could even keep his nose hair. Good food can do that to a person.
“Oh my god,” April said, putting her fork down. “I will never be able to make sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving after this. It’ll just be embarrassing to even bother.”