Risotto Rescue

I just finished my incredibly yummy leftover risotto con funghi porcini from Acapulco restaurant. I gotta tell you, life becomes a lot more hopeful and filled with possibilities when you discover you live really close to a terrific Italian restaurant.

Yes, dear readers, the Italian restaurant named after a city in Mexico and located in East Africa has FANTASTIC food! I was in mild shock after finishing the chicken and avocado soup starter, but when they brought out this trough of risotto and the most perfectly grilled and seasoned red snapper I've ever had in my life, suddenly I knew life in Nairobi was gonna be okay.

Rolling with Juliette and her mother was great, too. Margaret is a righteous hoot...watching her place an order is the closest thing to dinner theater I'll ever experience. I mean, girlfriend doesn't just state what she wants...she issues a royal decree. At one point, she told the poor flustered young waitress that she didn't want one of the specialities of the house because it had cream in it. "I don't want to get fat like you," she explained.

Now, it may just be a cultural "thang" that the waitress meekly withstood Margaret's Colonial matron routine before silently whisking away. But she'd have got cut talking like that to some of the attitudinal waitrons I've had in New York and DC. Or at the very least, her frutti di mare would have been glistening with a pungent "gravy con urini," if you catch my drift.

Anyway, the most remarkable thing about last night was that I didn't get home until 1:30 AM....and I was still relatively conscious at the time! Usually, by 11:30 each night, I'm totally sawing logs. But after dinner, the three of us went to a send-off party for Kenya's national rugby team which is headed to Dubai next week for a championship game.

It was so weird, because earlier on Saturday I'd decided to try to find out where local rugby players hang out and try to make the scene there! Seriously! I had been watching some BBC sports show featuring a bunch of rugby players who all seemed like fun lads. A bit primitive, but great physiques, and quite a spirited lot...

You know where that train of thought was heading, so I need not continue. Anyway, when Juliette suggested heading to the Rugby fete, I thought "Is this a cosmic coincidence or what?" I was happy that I'd worn my turquoise blouse which nicely accents my cougarish cleavage action. But the oldest player at the party was maybe 28. The absolutely hands down hottest of all was 20, and I wanted to head straight to Catholic confessional after thinking what I thought about him.

Bottom line, they all looked like gangly teenagers who'd suffered painfully dramatic growth spurts over summer vacation. And while all the single women were swivelling their hips on the dance floor, the rugby players stood off to the side in their own tight-knit clutch, watching video clips of themselves in action on a big-screen TV.

So by the time I climbed into bed around 2 AM, I was just happy that I'd found my Italian oasis in Acapulco, and had at least tried to get out and about. But it seems that after about 1 AM, this hottest "between-the-sheets action" for this cougar happens because I forgot to take my blood pressure pill the previous morning.