L’Huître Perlière

A date gone horribly wrong

I’d only been seeing Brett for about two months, so you could imagine my surprise when he texted to say that we were going to go to L’Huître Perlière for dinner tonight. I mean, the place has two Michelin stars! Side note: Michelin stars are kind of funny, aren’t they? Like, imagine the marshmallowy Michelin man busting into your gourmet establishment to nosh and then giving you a twinkly star and then everybody is like “oh la-la! We must eat there!” But I digress.

Anyway, I was, like, soooo excited to go to L’Huître Perlière. I’d never been, because, like, what was I gonna do? Go with my girlfriends? We’re more of the half-off margs and guac at Señorita Soledad’s Happy Hour type than the minimum $75 small plate kind of gals. Needless to say, I needed to find something to wear, and quick. I mean, could you IMAGINE if I walked in a place like that wearing a decade old bodycon dress from Forever 21? The horror. So anyway, the afternoon after he texted, I guess that would be like Wednesday of this week, I hauled ass over to Lord and Taylor and bought this little number you see me in tonight. It cost a pretty penny but I’d been eyeing it for a while and, like, sometimes you just gotta treat yourself, right? Besides, now I have a story for whenever I wear it!

Right, okay, sorry. So anyway, after work today, I rushed home and showered and set my hair while I did my makeup. I danced around my bedroom to Gaga with my precious little cat—by the way, like, can someone go check on her? Anyway, can you BELIEVE that Brett showed up, like, thirty minutes early? I mean, give a girl some time to beautify, am I right? Like, I think he could hear me trying to sing the ahh-ahh-AHH-AHH-ahh opera part of Bloody Mary extremely off key through my bedroom window which is right next to the front door, a fact that makes me feel very unsafe as a single woman, but like that’s the layout, so whatever. Hopefully he thought it was endearing, but then again, like why should I care what he thinks now?

So, okay, I answered the door in my pj shorts and tatty robe, hair all in curlers, and was like OMG, BRETT! But he just, like, smiled and told me to take my time which I thought was very gentlemanly. He took a seat on the couch and I turned my music down because I suddenly felt very awkward, like, bopping around with a man on the premises. I finished getting ready and I’m not really sure what he was up to in the living room, could’ve been anything now that I know what kind of weirdo he is. Maybe, like, when you go check on my cat, you can kind of nose around and see if he left anything behind? That way when I get home, it’s gone. Out of sight, out of mind, ya know?

So once I was ready and feeling pretty good about myself, I opened my bedroom door and gave him the ol’ razzle dazzle and got the appropriate oohs and aahs, I mean, really, he was all, “you look great, babe,” which is kinda how straight men, like, express any emotion, so that was pretty big. We still had some time before our rezzy so we had a quick bevy. I know, I know, so sorry about the drinking and driving, but I assure you, one glass of wine did not put him over the legal driving limit, and besides, like, don’t Teslas have that self-driving feature? How does that even work? Do you like boop boop the address into the screen and it just, like, drives you there? What if something jumps into the road, like a person or maybe a murderer or a monster, or, more realistically, a deer probably? Oh, sensors. Okay. Well, whatever, I don’t trust it.

So yeah, he has a Tesla which I now understand was stolen earlier today. Honestly, I had no idea. There was nothing inside, like you know when you get into a very neat person’s car, and you’re like hey, did you just get this? And they’re like no, I’ve had it for years, I just keep it neat. That’s like, the opposite of my car. It’s like, another closet for me. I’m the kind of gal that has, like, a pile of stuff in the passenger seat that I toss into the back when you get in. I guess that can be annoying to some people, but who always has a spare sweater when you need it? This gal.

So we drove across town from my place to Pearlie, that’s my nickname for it, okay? And we got there around, like, 7:56, just a few minutes before our rez. We parked in the lot around back, and he made a big show about getting out first and running around to my side to open the door, which, like, whatever. It’s not the olden days. I can open a door. He did the same going into the restaurant which was totally fine because I was looking for something in by bag anyway. Lipgloss. I thought I needed more. So like, we go inside and what can I say? WOWZA. I mean, you saw the place, it’s incredible. It’s, like, a fancy schmancy French seafood restaurant, and the decor inside is seriously class. It’s like, all glass with varying shades of blue to remind you, probably, that like, fish come from water. We were seated in one of the built-in banquette slash, like, chair combos and he very kindly let me take the comfy booth side of things. Man, what a cozy spot! It was lush, like velvet I think? And a pleasing white, not too bright. Our table had, like, a very sweet votive and a little vase with one perfect delphinium snaking its way out of the glass. So pretty, so romantic.

Okay, so like we sat down and they gave us the wine list and again, I was like WOWZA. Like, what kind of place doesn’t even put the PRICES on the menu for wine? Brett went ahead and ordered the 2015 Château Lafitte Rothschild at the sommelier’s suggestion and I was, like, GOBSMACKED that it cost $840! I was kind of like what kind of idiot would pay that much for wine? But then, I was also like hell yeah, I deserve to be wined and dined by this guy. I mean, it was good, like, I really like wine and that tasted really nice, not that I really notice much of a difference between that and say a $50 bottle. Don’t tell any wine freaks I said that, they’ll get all worked up, and I just cannot deal with that right now, what with everything…

So, like, he had pre-arranged that we’d do the Chef’s Tasting menu, which at the time, I thought was very cool and fancy. Previous to my time with Brett, the most a guy had ever planned for me was, like, dinner at Peter Luger’s in Vegas, which like, absolutely is so nice but it’s no Pearlie, you know? With Brett, I was like, wow, is this what my life could be? $800 bottles of wine and $500 per person tasting menu? Like, GET OUT, girl, so fancy! I mean, though, really, the emphasis should’ve been on getting out. Because, like, well, we’ll get to it in a minute.

Okay so like the tasting menu was wild. For $500 per person I thought we’d get more than just a measly little bite of yellowfin tuna on a piece of bread! More than like a piece of lobster in some broth with like, a twig or something on it! Like, this girl was HUNGRY and that amount of food just wasn’t going to cut it.

We were having a pretty decent time, I dunno, just talking about whatever. We talked about work—I’m a marketing exec over at Yancy Pharmaceuticals. It’s nothing special or interesting, really, but pills pay the bills as I always say! I think Brett said he’s some Wall Street guy. Like something about the trade floor? Now, whether he was telling the truth, I don’t know. Like maybe he watched Wolf of Wall Street a bazillion times to do some info-gathering or something. He seems like the type now that I think of it. I guess, like, we also talked about the other stuff you talk about on dates. It really wasn’t that spectacular. And, I mean, actually, if I’m being totally honest here, I was kind of bored which was a total let down because, like, how can I expect to be wined and dined at fancy restaurants if I think the guy is a snooze? After our second course—a shared king crab tomato gazpacho—I excused myself to the ladies room. I didn’t really need to go, but like, I needed a lil break from Brett. I mean, I don’t know him super well, but he was acting kind of strange and, like, off-putting, “so to the loo with you,” I said to myself!

I was in the bathroom probably a little too long, if I’m being honest. Oh my god, it was so NICE in there! It was all, like backlit with a nice seating area with one of those, like, circular couches in the middle of the room, sinks all around like in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom if she let it be fancy instead of all gross. What? Harry Potter, omg. And the stalls were like little rooms. Like the door went all the way to the floor, like a real door. Not like one of those bathrooms you go in and you can totally see a stranger squatting for their lives on the other side through the cracks. Come on, we’ve all had that experience. It’s so American! So like, I planted my ass on that cushy couch and started scrolling IG. My friends sent me like a zillion memes and I got kind of caught up watching these reels about this big doofy golden retriever who is like so dumb he bumps his head on a table and scares himself all the time and it’s like SO cute and funny, want me to send it to you?

After about 20 minutes, I realized I’d been in there way too long and I was worried Brett thought maybe I was doing a number two in the two-Michelin star French restaurant, which, if I’m being honest, is probably the cleanest, most comfortable place you could do that in. Unfortunately, I just did not have to go, but I did get lost in time there for a bit. When I got back to the table, I, like, made up this whole story about how my mom called me all upset because she had given her credit card number to a scammer who called HER to tell HER that her PRINTER had a virus, which is something that has happened, like, more than once, just not on this particular night. I must admit that I was impressed with my performance. I acted all distraught and worried, and, like if Brett did not upstage me with his actions, I would say it was some of my best work to date.

I was so out of sorts when I got back to the table, I didn’t even register that our third course—squid ink orecchiette for me and foie gras for him—were sitting at our places. I took a sip of my wine and dug in and that’s when it happened: the most disgusting moment of my entire life. There were, like, maggots squirming around my pasta. I cannot believe I couldn’t even tell at first, they just, like, blended in with the clams. It wasn’t until I had it in my MOUTH that I felt the squirming. I looked down and practically barfed the half-chewed food out and screamed so loud, like, I’m pretty sure I woke the dead. Immediately, the maître d, like, rushed over to see what the commotion was and Brett, like, very heroically showed him my dish and yelled and screamed that it was unacceptable. That poor maître d turned grey, omg, like I could just not believe.

And then Brett was all like, “and I wonder what is lurking in MY food,” which I thought was kind of suspicious, like, why would there ALSO be something in his food? But lo and behold there was an enormous, like, hairy cockroach shoved in there, its antennae, like, sticking out of the foie gras like it was buried in a mudslide or something. And then I really did barf, like for real, which is unfortunate for a number of reasons: 1. All that expensive wine gone to waste, 2. General embarrassment. So like I’m barfing, Brett is screaming that he wants a refund and they’ll be hearing from his lawyer and he’ll sue for damages and all that, that poor maître d just like keels over and crashes onto the table next to us. Like, I thought maybe he just fainted because it was truly an atrocious sight, but he was, like, dead dead. Was it a heart attack, I guess? So like, he just like, DIES then and there, falls on the table next to us as this guy is trying to, like, propose to his girlfriend, and HIS JACKET CAUGHT FIRE FROM THE VOTIVE.

So, like, just to be sure you’re following here: there’s maggots in my food, there’s a roach in his, I’m vomiting, Brett is screaming, this guy dies and catches fire. Then people around start standing up, screaming “fire, fire,” screaming about bugs and stuff, and then like there’s a total fucking, sorry, language, STAMPEDE as everyone tries to get out of those two doors in the front. Then the chef comes out of the kitchen and he’s all like what the actual fuck? And Brett starts screaming at HIM and I was all like, now is not the time, dude, that dead guy is literally on fire next to us, and like then the chef starts screaming because, like, wouldn’t you if you were accused of serving such disgusting food? So like, while that’s happening, a couple of bus boys put the dead guy’s fire out, poor guy, did he have kids? I hope not. And the sous chef, like, calms down the other patrons so they stop running and screaming, but not before that lady broke her leg and that other guy like, broke his skull I guess? And I guess that’s when the waitress called you guys.

I can only imagine what it looked like when you got there. I mean, like, who would’ve expected such chaos at such a fancy place? I was appalled and also, like, couldn’t stop barfing whenever I looked at my plate, or Brett. I felt so empty, you know? So, like, I was relieved when you guys busted in because I was like omg, I’m saved! Get me the F out of here. Only we didn’t go home yet, obvi because we had to talk about this whole thing, like understandably.

So you see, officer, I am merely another victim in all of this. I had no idea that Brett, like, buys maggots and roaches on the black market to hide in food at restaurants to get free meals. I mean, what kind of psycho does something like that? It’s crazy. And like, you’ve been tracking him? That’s wild. And I am seriously reconsidering being on the apps, like, if this is the quality of man I am going to have to date, then maybe it really should just be me and my cat rocking out to Gaga for the rest of our days, you know?

I was not party to his actions and I would really like to go home now. Can this, like, be my official statement? Has the evidence, like, proved that I am, indeed, innocent?