So last night I took Eric and Shax to dinner at Jean Georges, and we all had the classic tasting menu, and we had lovely cocktails -- I had a glowing golden sidecar in a martini glass rimmed with sugar -- and we had a bottle of some fancy red wine that the sommelier described to us as a beautiful, soft elegant bouquet and many other things that I don't remember because his words sort of fell over me in this gorgeous shower. I want to go back just to force him to describe every bottle of wine to me on that multi-page wine list in similarly ecstatic and poetic terms.

So our meal started with this amuse bouche of this creamy homemade mozarella with fig (I think) and this county-fair-like corn cake with big kernels of corn in it and this bit of cucumber soup in a leetle glass.

Then we had this egg caviar. One perfect egg balanced on a pile of salt, with the top cracked open to hold the softest, creamist, lushest scrambled egg you've ever had topped with a pile of caviar. I think the waiter told us to "delicately explore the inside of the egg" with our spoons, this giving the whole experience a distinctly erotic cast. Sigh.

Then we had sea scallops with caramalized cauliflower -- like two thin cauliflower silhouettes like fossils on the scallops -- and caper-raisin emulsion.

Then we had young garlic soup with thyme, and sauteed frog legs on the side. As the waiter spooned the soup into our bowls, over a little pile of herbs, he told us to not be shy to use or fingers for the frog legs since we'd be able to wash our hands after. The soup tasted exactly like a piece of garlic bread turned to liquid, which is of course a magical thing.

Then as our plates were cleared away the waiters brought us each a silver bowl full of warm water with large flower petals foating on top, to dip our hands in. We all looked like Palmolive ladies about to get manicures but that was one luxurious bath for my mitts and I obviously need to invest in some silver bowls and some petals and fete my hands on a daily basis.

THEN we had a plate of my new favorite fish, turbot, with a chateau chalon sauce, and the fish was perfect and melty and gleaming white, and the sauce was the color of ginger and completely gorgeous.

Then we had a plate of lobster tartine with lemongrass and fenugreek broth and pea shoots.

Then we had a plate of broiled squab with onion compote, and a corn pancake with foie gras.

And THEN we got menus to choose our dessert tastings. Eric had the summer one, I had the market berry one, and Shax had the strawberry one, and we each got these large plates with four little dessert combinations on them, and the best things were this raspberry and rose water soup I had, and this tomato-basil sorbet Eric had, and this strawberry ice cream with lavender leather on top of it that Shax had. I also had a berry tart with some pistachio creme stuff, and some raspberry sorbet with a flaky cake thing, and this chocolate-covered berry concoction on a stick with gold leaf.

And THEN you get another dessert course, and it's this plate of chocolates, and a plate of sugar-covered little jellies, and a plate of tiny various-flavored macaroons, and best of all, a plate of homemade flavored marshmallows that they grab for you in strips out of a large glass jar they wheel around, and cut for you into pieces with silver scissors. So we each had a piece of mint marshmallow, vanilla marshmallow, and I think lemon but I forget. When I picked up the first piece it felt so lovely and soft and wonderful that I didn't want to eat it, I wanted to sleep on it. The mint was the best, and it's so soft and luxurious and it melts in your mouth.

We also all had cappuccino.

And then they give you a little bag with a box inside containing two lavender-tissue-wrapped chocolates like jewels.

And the restaurant itself is beautifully lit and elegant and there is this huge golden lighting sculpture things swooping from the middle of the ceiling that looks suspiciously like an octopus.

Despite said sabotage, I am now going to get extremely rich so that I can eat there once a week until I die. Even if I die from overspending and overeating and overindulgence generally.

The end.