IF I KNEW YOU WERE COMING I’D A BAKED A CAKE

As a partner in a new found venture (See January 26, 2011 blogue), my partner and I go to great lengths to find quality vendors to service our company. That means visiting expos and shows, and even tasting foods and testing products as they become available.
Yesterday we were in Southampton visiting an establishment that caters to event planners. It is a lovely old mansion like building, very chic and on the cutting edge of high end. As we moved about viewing the different displays and speaking with the owner, he invited us to view his upper level, and so we did.

Entering this large room, spread out before us were tables covered in various styles of china, stemware and cutlery. Each table had some kind of place setting, as so we moved about, we could see napkins, displayed, and Pam even picked up a fondant covered cake (not real cake), and display orange, and picked it up, impressed by the realism of these items.

Finally, we both approached a table near an office that was occupied, and noticed that there was a place setting for 4 people. It seemed strange that they were all at the end of the table, all next to each other, except one that was at the head of the table. Then I noticed that the table had other exhibits, so it showed a beautiful place setting complete with stemware, china and cutlery. Also displayed were napkins and flowers and all that goes with fancy dining.

Pam, (Calamity Jane), decided to one more time to closely check the display. Laughing to myself, I though: “Well Pam, you are a hard lady to convince about the craft of fake food! She pokes it and moves on, a strange look on her face, and is hurriedly moving away! Curios, I move in and look at the place setting, thinking: “What did she see?”

Well folks, let me tell you, if you ever go somewhere, and it’s lunch time, and maybe there is food laid out, and it is not for you, don’t poke it. As I looked at the place setting with the food, I poked it, and it was soft, wet, and real, and worse of all, it was fish! Our fingers smelled like the Fulton fish market.

As convulsions set in, the two of us decided we should get the hell out of there, descending the elegant stairway, trying to hold in the laughing and her giggling, and trying to desperately to leave the building before we ran into the owner once again.

But of course our plans were not to be, as he stopped us, conversed and looked into our eyes, we were about to burst out laughing, knowing what we did.