Twin Peaks

Went to Twin Peaks in Hoover with a work mate recently. We’d been in the lab for four days straight it seemed, and truly needed to unwind. We sat with an enchanting young lady named Julie who was adorably cheeky and coquettish. Her visage is rivaled only by Aphrodite herself. I had the Italian flatbread and my mate, Paul, had the Moms pot roast. Both were quite tasty and not nearly so provincial as we had feared. Paul exclusively drinks beer - and plenty of it, even more since his cat, Milo, got hold of a rat bait this Christmas Eve and suffered an excruciating final five minutes. My beverage choices are far more nuanced. I ordered a Schattenjäger, and was surprised that Julie knew what it was. I watched her (who could blame me) walk to the bar and submit my request. The bartenders were befuddled. Julie had to teach them how to prepare a Schattenjäger, aka, nectar of the gods. She returned with what can only be described as the pin ultimate rendering of this treasured delicacy. It was layered perfectly and included the moniker of excellence - a thin film of frost on the surface. What’s more, the glass was filled above the rim, but remained unspilled owing to Julie’s graceful manner and mastery of the physics of surface tension. Well, Paul kept gushing about the “mouth feel” and understated umami tones of his pot roast, but for my part, Julie will always and forever rule over the adored and rarified pantheon of truly great servers. Thank you, Julie, for reminding me that as long as there are great artists there always will be great art. Excelsior! Dr Samuel Claremont, PhD, Preternatural Biology University of Bergen