A Martini with African Royalty
For some reason, we always stay at the St. Regis. Sometimes we get the friends and family discount and so we pay, but other times, we’re there on business, so someone else does. This time we were there because of a donation made to the Horizons Foundation, a fund that makes investments in LGBTQ causes. Because of the donation, we got tickets to their annual gala, taking place at the Fairmont, and the donor, generously, put us up at the St. Regis so we could go.
It’s a beautiful hotel, with the glass walled lobby, the deep, nearly black wood paneling, and Andrew Marrow’s monumental painting about passion, vengefulness and athleticism, called “Love and War,” in the bar.
It was on this occasion, in that very bar, where I found myself, waiting for my husband, who was on I-80, just getting into Richmond. I, on the other hand, was slouched deep in a curvy wingback chair with soft silver velveteen cushions. I had the bar menu open, propped on the table and I considered it. No thanks to charcuterie - too messy, and it’s only me. And no salads, I’m not there for dinner. I settled on the snapper ceviche.
A cocktail waitress, tall and thin in a black blouse and pencil skirt, long black hair gently draped on her shoulder - quite frankly looking like she just got off a plane from Nairobi or Addis Abbaba - asked me what I wanted.
“The snapper ceviche and an extra dirty, extra wet martini.”
She gave a pleasurable, but discreet, smile, at just the idea of my drink. My smiled responded to her smile saying, “yes, dirty and wet. That’s the kind of guy I am.”
“Preference on gin?” she asked.
“Hendricks or Bombay Sapphire,” I said.
“My pleasure,” she said, and was off.
I thought, “oh no darling, the pleasure is all mine!”
What is it about ordering a drink that is described as “dirty and wet?” There’s something overtly lascivious about it. I suppose most of the things in life that are dirty and wet are fun, but aren’t supposed to be. I also suppose that most people like their martinis dry - though everyone knows that dry things are much less fun than wet things. A dry martini is just a chilled glass of gin. Where’s the fun in that? Three parts gin, one part vermouth and lots of olive juice. That’s how I like them.
The Princess of Abbyssinia came back with a glorious cocktail. It was taller than a mason jar, and so angular it cut a Jetsonian profile. Its glass was irregular, looked like it was made of ice, but wasn’t, though it was ice cold. The liquid it contained was an adequately lascivious dirty olive green and it was filled to the edge. It had two olives, penetrated by a glass toothpick.
The snapper ceviche came soon after. It was on a rectangular ceramic plate, littered with crinkled tortilla chips. In the center was half an avocado, the whole left by the spherical seed filled with a lump of white fish, flecked with green bits of cilantro.
I considered this, disappointedly. Ceviche is supposed to be like a dip - guacamole or salsa - where you can simply dip the chip, and eat. This presentation was creative, and avocado is always welcome, but how was one supposed to pierce an unsmashed avocado straight out of the skin? The chip simply breaks off. Furthermore, the ceviche itself was fairly dry and chunky, making it even harder to get anything on to the chip.
That is when I notice that My Lady from Lagos had placed a fork and knife wrapped in a cream linen napkin on the side of the plate. Well, I thought, if it is absolutely necessary for me to eat my chips and ceviche with a fork and knife, I’ll have to play through like a golfer in a sand trap.
I did so, awkward and messily, cutting a piece of avocado with the ceviche and placing it in my mouth, then following it with a chip. The ceviche itself was quite bland, just a bit of tang from the vinegar. It didn’t seem to have any onions, tomatoes or much of a taste of the cilantro for that matter.
It's not the way it's supposed to be, but it would do until I got to the Gala at the Fairmont - and who knows if that food is going to be edible.
I finished my martini, which turned out to be the best part and called my husband. He was on the Bayshore, going 10 miles per hour. I caught the eye of the Empress of Cape Verde and ordered another martini.
The best ceviche to be had in Napa, in my opinion, is at the Economy Market on Imola. The Mexicans do it like no one else. There’s a bit of heat from green chiles, some onions for tang, lots of juice from vinegar and pico de gallo and delicious shrimp. Their chips are perfect as well with just the right amount of salt.
Economy Market is open from 5:00AM to 9:00PM seven days a week. Their address is 1100 Imola Avenue. You buy the ceviche in the prepared foods section to the right of the entrance. They don’t speak English, so if you don’t speak Spanish, just point to the juicy shrimp and then point to the size you want. They’ll get the idea. Their salsa is the best around as well.
