Fancy Boys Club

In Spring of 2017, I ate dinner at Del Frisco’s, a lavish and glitzy steakhouse located on the fifty-second story of The Prudential Center in Boston. Del Frisco’s menu features everything you would imagine from a place frequented by the East Coast aristocracy, while the stone and metal interior is so ornately accented by crystal chandeliers and reclaimed wood you begin to understand why the one-percent is so keen on holding onto this lifestyle. Between the forty-five day dry-aged steak that melted in my mouth, the handcrafted cocktails that flowed with more life and vitality than The Euphradis, and my date’s seven course meal (each paired with its own top-shelf wine), the check came out to roughly what I pay per month in rent. This menu should be printed, un-altered, and distributed as a pamphlet to spark the proletariat uprising. 

After I sucked the last morsels of meat off the t-bone, I leaned back in my chair, my belly full of a cow that probably had a higher quality of life than myself, and my eyes drifted out the window, soaking in a Boston Harbor being swaddled in the twilight of a setting Sun. After a moment, my gaze came back across the table, and I stared into the eyes of the woman I loved, hoping time would stand still and we would never leave. Continue reading “Concerning the new Popeyes Chicken Sandwich” →