Fire eating

Last night the Portland Gang© met at a fancy restaurant to celebrate Firechild's birthday. And boy was that restaurant fancy--it seemed like a classic gentleman's club from the robber baron era. (A feeling that was assisted by the fact that the restaurant was in the train station.) The red velvet seats were high backed and someone pointed out that when you laugh, you felt like doing it maniacally and so heartily that your monocle fell out, because it just felt right. It seemed like just the place to plot how to economically exploit the next group of hapless victims. Let's see, who's left? The Irish, Blacks, Native Americans, Chinese, Mormons, Germans, Hispanics, Poles, Japanese, Aborigines, Lapps, Puritans, Basques, Palestinians, and Indians have already been exploited. That only leaves Midwesterners and Skateboarders.

Anyway, back to the restaurant--I always knew that Firechild was a pyromaniac, but after seeing what she ordered, I think she both earned her nickname AND reached a new level of pyromania. One of the offerings on the menu was Steak Diane, which is steak prepared at the table and served flambé. I swear--given the choice between Ambrosia prepared by Aphrodite herself atop Mt. Olympus and delivered to the restaurant by Hermes and food on fire, she'd choose the fire food every time (and not just because Aphrodite ususally charges several hundred thousand dollars per serving). You should have seen Firechild's eyes light up when her meat burst into flames. Satan himself couldn't have been more pleased around all that fire. For dessert, she ordered Bananas Foster, served flambé, of course. If they would have offered a flaming salad, I'm thinking she would have been tempted by it. Maybe for her birthday I should have given her a charcoal briquette and told her that it was an iPod, served flambé.