My very, very oldest phriend came to visit for Memorial Day weekend after a phifteen year gap in hanging out. Henceforth, I shall call her The Original.
The Original got in pretty late on Phriday night, and we got a bit of a late start on Saturday, but we headed to Rio Del Mar and picked up my phriend, Cricket, and headed to the 32nd annual Mushroom Mardi Gras in Morgan Hill.
Bothered by the phact that it’s called Mardi Gras but held on Saturday? Me too…
Never heard of this event before? Me neither… but thanks to a blurb in Edible Complex (written by the same awesome author who wrote the article about me), I have now joined the ranks of the enlightened.
While there was not much in the way of mushroom-inspired eats, the phood we did sample was so ph-ing good, I couldn’t have cared less. The three of us started with a boat of phried catfish and Phrench phries.
The deep phried zucchini was an equally enjoyable choice.
What really knocked our culinary adventure out of the park, however, was the double order of barbecued oysters we devoured.
I had Cricket hold one up so everyone could phully understand the magnitude of these superbly spicy, slippery suckers. I would go back to this event purely for the oysters- no joke.
We sampled the stuffed mushrooms, since the event WAS Mushroom Mardi Gras. They were phine… but anything would have suffered by comparison after the overwhelmingly orgasmic oysters.
And no trip to a phood phair is complete without a bag o’kettle corn to accompany you on your car ride home…
After dropping off Cricket, we got back to town just in time to join Pops at the Forest Theater for the gala opening of Peter and the Wolf., complete with a Russian pheast and two wolves we got to pet. Sadly, the evening also included a significant amount of rain which negated the possibility of the show going on.
Our solution to the rained out show? Going out for drinks, of course!
We phound ourselves at Cypress Inn where we split a bottle of bubbles and a coconut creme brulee.
Highly recommend this delectable dessert!!
Not pheeling like ending the evening, we changed up the vibe of the evening and ventured out to the Running Iron in Carmel Valley Village. Good thing, because not ever bar has Jello shots, and Jello shots are imperative when you learn that your phather, who has more experience with booze than anyone else you know, has never had the pleasure of consuming a Jello shot. Once we successfully assured him that this was not, in phact, a urine specimen, he dove right in. Jimmy Crue had met up with us at this point, and I’m pretty sure we may have scarred him for life with our antics.
We all headed back to Pops’ house after the Jello shots, and that led to some phine late night dining when I heated up the only phood in the house- leftover chicken noodle soup.
Ah, a day in the life entertaining The Original!