Blue Moon Revolution
Things get tricky in terms of food here sometimes. Last Thursday, after staring at an abysmal twenty-one word 333 for several hours, I decided to go out to eat.
I began my pitiful walk of hunger, marching past the tennis courts, past the fire station, and found myself standing next to Blue Moon. Now, I had never been to Blue Moon and I wasn’t completely sure that it would fit my aesthetic. But it was seven. I figured, what the Snell[‘s law]? I walked into the restaurant and that was when I first realized that I had made a mistake.
It was dark. Really dark. (I begrudgingly admitted that it totes fit my aesthetic.) And there were a lot of people. Why this place was GDFR on a Thursday night in Exeter, New Hampshire is beyond me, but it was, and I started to worry that I needed a reservation. After approaching the hostess, neither of us said anything. Was that my cue? A part of me felt like she was trying to read my mind, but nevertheless I managed to declare my intentions. “A table for one?” she wanted to confirm. I nodded. “Just one?” No, I was joking. Three of my friends are actually outside. I did this all to trick you. I nodded. “Do you mind a table in the back?” I shook my head no, once again not realizing what I had gotten myself into.
The “table in the back” turned out to be a table in a corner that faced a wall. Two seats away from me and at the same table sat another customer fated to make conversation with the painting across from her. As I scanned the menu, I quickly came to the realization that Blue Moon was pricier than my typical order of potato skins. I considered ordering just an appetizer, but that would only serve to sully my reputation amongst the strangers that I would probably never see again. I decided to stay away from the meat and play vegetarian. This would have been another good opportunity for the crop circle hair. Anyways, in terms of vegetarian options, I was down to a lettuce wrap and a millet cake. Unfortunately, my mother was a vegan for several years, and I had the displeasure of sampling many lettuce wraps.
After placing my order, the woman at my table turned to make small-talk. I began inwardly freaking out and wondering how this hadn’t made it into one of Stephen King’s novels. She asked me about how often I visited Blue Moon and what I was going to have for dinner. At one point she rattled off a list of wines she recommended. Thanks, but although it’s hard to imagine, I’ve managed to stay sober for the past 16 years of my life. I’ll stick with water. I nodded. Towards the end of our enlightening conversation she encouraged me to try their various jams. As I listened in confusion, I noticed that there were small bowls of jam scattered around her. No other food, no drinks. Just jam. If it weren’t for her age, I might have seriously considered her to be an arsonist. Sure, maybe she just really likes jam, but think about it. Have you ever met an arsonist that wasn’t enthusiastic about jam? Didn’t think so.
My millet cake arrived just in time to end that discussion for the rest of my life. Honestly, I didn’t know what my expectations of a millet cake were. I still am not completely sure what a millet is, but I thought I had once fed them to my hamster Munchkin Hamstalicious. Regardless, I knew from multiple episodes of “Chopped” that the dish was plated well and I had to give some points. The cake itself was shockingly flavorful, but what got me was the bok choy. During that period in my life I had yet to encounter bok choy. It was as mythical as an Exonian’s sense of sanity. For all I knew at the time I could have been eating my roommate’s liver, and with the way it tasted, I would have been okay with that life choice.
I calculated the tip, paid my bill, briefly thought of potato skins, and left.
Overall my experience was not what I had intended.
10/10 would recommend.