My Birthday Bash
Bashing My Foray into Five-Star Celebrations and the Five of Pentacles
I celebrated my 40th birthday with a $300 meal.
I always wanted to eat in that kind of fancy restaurant in another country - reservations required where you dress to the nines (or more decent that Sunday’s best), seated on white table clothed top that was pristine, starched and ironed, multi-course with the teeniest spoonful or a painting of food on a plate, sommelier recommended alcoholic drinks and servers with laser focused to cater to unspoken needs. I didn’t grow up in the Philippines with such kind of dining experiences. I read it on the pages of the dogeared copy of “Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise” by Ruth Reichl and saw it on multiple episodes Anthony Bourdain’s shows from the Food Network’s “A Cook’s Tour” Travel Channel’s “No Reservations” and “The Layover” downloaded from torrent in the Philippines to CNN’s “Parts Unknown” now watched on American cable TV. It must feel spectacular eating in the lap of luxury!
A few months before, I had my first taste of the three-digit meal in New York City where Ruth Reichl penned a lot of her restaurant reviews. My cousin, who was very much into this kind of dining, secured a reservation at one of the World’s 50 Best Restaurants of 2021 (I won’t tell which one!) We were both born in September, so we considered it an advanced celebration, especially since I flew into the Big Apple to be with my people (I honestly have a lot more of my good friends in NYC. Don’t ask why.), to hopefully recover and figure out my sh*t. I wasn’t dressed to the nines as it was a spur of the moment, stroke of luck, stars aligned thing. It was lunch, not dinner, so the casual attire was forgivable.
We exchanged stories and immigrant battle scars in between bites, analyzing the technique and ingredients as we both enjoyed good food and worked in the restaurant industry. My elbow leaned on the table with my water glass in hand raised, a server approached mid-sentence.
“She’s going to refill your glass.” My cousin smiled knowingly. She sure had more experience than I did going to these kinds of restaurants.
“Oh.”
I extended by handheld glass beyond the square of our two top for her to pour the room temperature water.
“I didn’t know that they did that! Sorry naman, first time.” I apologized for my faux pas as a novice fine dining clientele.
We exchanged hugs and kisses after the meal as she left to make the drive back to New Jersey. I was satiated by our reunion in that providential time, but the experience left me wanting. Was that it?
It made me think of the Five of Pentacles, the midway of the suit of pentacles of the Minor Arcana that represents our earthly wealth and health. As with being in the middle of things, it can be messy. You’re here, not there. You often don’t know where to go.
Two people trudging through the snow. One cloaked in tattered robes from her head to her naked ankles, walking with bare feet through the powdered ice, the other, hopping on crutches with a single booted leg, the other wrapped in bandages, face red, assumed bloodied from the cloth around his head. Behind them a brightly lit stained glass window dotted with five starred circles, emanating with a glow that meant the necessary warmth in the cold, dark night. It is the glimmer of home. One passed over, a wallpaper not seen, seemingly out of reach.
My husband, dog and I live in the Dallas area, not New York. If you know Dallas, like we do, it was all about fancy this, luxury that - a carrot that was dangled to every aspiring wannabe whoever in this Metroplex. There is no shortage of restaurants with three-digit sticker prices (or the aspiration to be one) where ambiance was very much included and paid for. So post that NYC dinner, I wanted to give that kind of dining another chance on a special occasion.
Maybe the milestone birthday celebration will add some shine that I didn’t see the first time. Maybe there was something I missed about the esteemed gastronomic experience, prized by all these lists and hordes of food lovers around the world. Maybe I was no different from all the Dallas wannabes to wannado luxury to be whoever in the eyes of others.
We were escorted to our table, with the prime view of the open kitchen, stainless steel shining over white tiles, chime of pans and pots, sizzle of protein and plant over oil, the puffs of fire orchestrated by white coated, well-groomed chefs prepped for the meal and a show. I ordered so much. Every plate that piqued my curiosity. I trusted our appetites could handle so much with the fine dining spoonful serving sizes. I felt that I would and could never afford such an experience ever again.
My hunch was right.
It escaped my mind that while it was an immaculate white table cloth, spoonful of food per plate kind of restaurant, we were still in Dallas. The servings were extra generous that we went home with boxes. But what it delivered in taste (okay), attentive service (okay) and ambiance (okay), there was still a huge hole of soul. Everything was wallpaper, passed over for the purpose of being aesthetic, for the ‘gram, for letting everyone else know I’ve been there. There was no warm embrace of home, celebration of life nor the ecstatic satiation, a “Hallelujah! That was a great meal!” from one of the most fundamental human necessities.
The table next to us hosted a family of four. The matriarch and daughters’ handbags of distinct monograms. The matriarch’s feet in ballet flats with toes topped with a bow held together by golden Ferragamo buckle that glistened in the amber lighting. The daughter in Tory Burch sandals. The father and son in crisp, ironed polo shirts, buttoned to the top, beards trimmed and bulbous noses topped by a tortoise shell specs. Their conversation formal, stifled, obligatory. They were there because they were summoned. I, too, squirmed in my seat from their energy.
I paid $300 to leave without the glow. How could something that emptied the wallet feel like empty calories?
Maybe home is something out of reach or rather something I would never find in places and experiences like this. Somewhere where I could be shoulder to shoulder with human beings, feel the warmth of raucous laughter, giggles and snorts from groups of people who truly wanted to be there and celebrate each other’s company with food. That may not even be four star good, it may even be from a small cart by the roadside, but the company is what made it good enough. No, spectacular. Somewhere where I could be free to be my best or maybe even worst self, yet still be OK.
When pulled in a reading, the Five of Pentacles signals a lack, especially of coin, wealth, financial resources. But is the End nigh? There is light on the wall, literally. You’re just not seeing it, because you cannot ignore the fact you’re knee deep in snow and (excuse my language) sh*t. You’re midway there, especially 5 is the midpoint of 10; only if you see the Light, not pass it by. Help is right there. Home is where you direct your attention to. Raise your head, look around.
It could also mean the reverse. You are swimming in resources, but still feeling the lack. It begs the question on what true wealth means to you.
I turned 43 a few weeks back. No, I did not have $300 to burn for a single meal like I foresaw. Over the weekend, my husband and I shared lunch at a father and son ran Persian restaurant in the middle of car repair shops, brought home a box of desserts from a beloved second generation Mexican American bakery, another early dinner at a Korean barbecue place in Korea town, where meats were grilled over glowing embers, then brought home Syrian shawarmas from the newly opened neighborhood joint, another meal at an El Salvadoran restaurant, and a visit to the Frida Kahlo exhibition at the city museum. All of THAT costed a little under or over $300, and my stomach and heart was full to the brim.
Almost.
Yes, I opted out of luxury dining. I learned my lesson. It may have meant so much to the wannabes who wannado. If you’re in that headspace and lured by the light of luxury, go ahead, no one is to stop you.
But I’m out.
What I’m reading:
“Lies and Weddings: A Novel” by Kevin Kwan of “Crazy, Rich, Asians” fame.
Speaking of riches, why not dive into this beach easy read as you relish the last days of sunshine and warmth in the northern hemisphere? Kwan continues to allow us to slide into the world of the ultra-riche, whether old or nouveau, to unveil some of the farce of it all.
“They Called Us Exceptional: And Other Lies That Raised Us” by Prachi Gupta
I’ve been reading a lot of BIPOC memoirs, which I naturally gravitate towards, to expand my view of the experiences of others like me. This one’s title on the premise on how the “model minority myth” in the US shapes immigrants and their lives. It is not an easy read as Gupta recalls her grief and traumas from high expectations, promises and dreams versus broken realities. But riveting nonetheless. It made me sit with the promise of the American dream and how the reality can fall far away from the gloss of what’s seen on the screens.
What I’m watching:
“Civil War” (2024) starring Kirsten Dunst (Your 90’s girl heroine), Cailee Spaeny (Of “Priscilla” by Sofia Coppola fame) and Nick Offerman (Of “Parks & Recreation” fame)
A lot of Americans who lived here over decades and/or born here said that “This (all this) is bonkers. I’ve not seen anything like it.” Or maybe you just were not alive to see it? It seems like unprecedented times, but it’s not like this country has not seen any upheavals at all. This movie feels dystopian, but is it? Or is a prophecy of what is to come? Astrologically, it points to yes. But in terms of entertainment, I do recommend this to include in your watch list.
“Rings of Power” Season 2
If there is any universe I am clued into, or one of the fictional universes, it is Lord of the Rings. I am still watching, even if season 2 was not shot in Middle Earth (New Zealand) anymore. [A friend living in NZ said that it did ired residents that the location was no more.] So if you are, like me, a LOTR aficionado, go and watch. We do need a little fantasy, even if the theme of this season is getting darker by the minute.