Had a dream last night.
(Yeah, I know, people talking about their dreams is like people talking about their pets or children or golf game–99% of the time it is of absolutely zero interest to anyone but the speaker. But I’m not going to let that stop me.)
Anyway, in said dream I was trying to sell a friend of mine on a new concept for a restaurant: the Swine Bar.
“You know, like a wine bar–only instead of wine we’d serve nothing but pork, prepared in a multitude of tasty, tasty ways. We’d do charcuterie. We’d roast a pig in a pit out back. We’d serve carnitas. And just think of what we could do with bacon! We’d serve it all tapas-style, in small portions, so you could have your piggy served up in several different ways if you wanted to. It would be like Mecca* for Tony Bourdain; you just know it.”
My friend gave me an exasperated look. “You do know I’m Jewish, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but that’s okay. That means only one of us will be eating up all the profits.”
Now, I have no interest whatsoever in going into the restaurant business. Not even the prospect of unlimited quantities of skillfully-prepared pig parts can get me excited about it. But if anyone wants to go ahead and open their own Swine Bar? Look for me on opening night; no matter what I have to do, I’ll be there.
*And now that I’m back in my waking life and typing that sentence, I realize that comparing my dream-shrine to pigmeat to Mecca (Mecca!) is probably one of the worst comparisons I could have made. Head? Meet desk.