Just when I’ve gotten used to fighting for Triscuits in public, last night restored a hack journalist’s faith that there’s money out there somewhere and people will actually spend it on food for the comp-buffets-to-munch bunch.
After a Ziegfeld screening of Boardwalk Empire‘s third season premiere, HBO had a splashy party for it at Cipriani 42nd Street, and trust me, there hasn’t been this much food in one room since Shelley Winters died.
On entering, I saw a glistening row of grilled vegetables, shallots, seafood salad, and other culinary delectables.
Then came a table with various types of pasta (one with spinach, one with tomato sauce, etc.), followed by a setup overflowing with clams, oysters, and shrimp by the ton, plus all the trimmings, including sauce, horseradish, and just the right crackers.
After that, I waddled by a table with obscenely large bowls of rice, asparagus, and chicken, and then a food station with oodles of brussels sprouts and roast beef, simmering in their native juices.
Keep walking if you dared and you found a whole other array of pastas and veggies and bread, oh my–all screaming “Love me! Eat me! Now!”
Just as I was about to toddle home to fall over and explode like the Hindenburg, I realized that on the other side of the room, there was dessert heaven!
My eyes fixed on plate after plate of fruit, meringues, cookies, and cakes, plus a guy standing there scooping out ice cream to put on top of some warm chocolate thingie.
Clearly I had died and gone to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
This was edible porn, a bawdy buffet for the hungry of soul, spirit, and stomach, and I indulged in it like a hustler at a nursing home.
The whole event, by the way, was done as a New Year’s party bringing in 1923 (as in the show), so it’s possible the whole thing was a mirage.