Smuggles (at the movies)

It's not that I'm too cheap to buy Movie Concessions (although I am) or too morally outraged ($73 bucks for a Coke and a candy bar? sounds reasonable) or too economically challenged (that CitiBank kiosk they've set up is never gonna sign off on a medium popcorn) -- it really is the Food (and drink) Snob in me. If they served McDonald's Coke (the highest Nirvana of fountain Coke), for example, I'd just go ahead and splurge on that line of credit -- but their concessions are just stale, flat, Swill.

That's why I'm an inveterate Smuggler. And I always evaluate prospective movie companions by those standards. Are they smugglers too? Can they be enlisted as a possible Twizzler mule? (How big is their purse; do they have a lot of pockets?) Or are they offended by the practice? (One of my best friend's wives HATES going to the movies with me and her husband -- he and I need a Sherpa to haul in our loot, while she coughs conspicuously to try to mask the sound of us opening our 40 gallon drums of M &Ms. Heck, we were at a Vin Diesel movie at Hoodhill the first time that happened -- not an arthouse indie downtown-- our contraband concessions were certainly the least of the security breaches at that place).

So I spent the afternoon yesterday foraging for BabyCokes (in the glass bottles). And I was just damn lucky the show didn't start til 9:30 cause I barely made it. DiscoKroger, of course, had been done in by the SnoPocalypse -- with barely a crust of bread and baloney hull (as my dad would say) left on the shelves. By the time I trudged home through their sludge to pick up the car, my legs were spindly little ace-sicles and I was in no mood for the drive to Krolex -- which had been similarly looted, and displayed the exact same reckless disregard for parking lot maintenance. I parked between 24 Volvos, I am sure they could spare a few grains of road salt.

That's how I ended up at the SnootyFalooty store. They also had failed to shovel or salt (making me angry on arrival), but I knew they would have Mexican Cokes (cane sugar/none of the demon elixir: high fructose corn syrup).

What I'd forgotten, is they also have the Wall of Candy -- every smuggler's dream.  I grabbed Watermelon Sour Patch kids and chocolate covered cashews for me (of course), and then started picking out treats for my date. Which gave me momentary pause -- a little nano-existential crisis. I didn't know what kind of JellyBelly he would want (or if he could even stand them). Was he a gummi-worm kinda guy? I didn't know. About the only thing I did remember -- albeit, a little late -- is that he can't have nuts (which meant a lot of stuff went back to the bins -- and they don't like THAT at the Snooty Falooty store). I finally settled on chocolate-covered espresso beans (he drinks coffee; I've seen him do it; hell, I've even made it for him -- this initially prompted a surprised reaction from the BFF, forcing me to clarify "I mean, it was at my house and all. Not his office. I'm not his goddamn secretary or anything." Turns out, she was just surprised I know how to make coffee since I don't drink it, and also, perhaps, I am a little defensive.) Then I got these giant chocolate-peanut butter malted milk balls, because I've also seen him order peanut butter pie, and it seems like the flavor profile would be comparable. I also smuggled in the rest of Rachel's cheese straws because, like me, he does know the two major food groups to be alternated are salty-sweet.

We saw It's Complicated. Which I wanted to see Christmas Night but ended up seeing something else instead. Although I'm not typically first in line for a chick-flick, I know several things about Nancy Myers movies: they will feature women even older than I am (if you can imagine), who will be very very well-lit. The sets will be designed right out of Dwell Magazine. (HG actually did do a spread on her sets after Something's Gotta Give, which my Mom, God love her, saved for me.) And there will always, always be spectacular food. Sure, the dialogue will usually be unduly stage-y and everything will always drag on a half hour too long, but hey, you could do a lot worse in a movie. At least it's not Nora Ephron. The movie was a little wistful, a little farcical (not a compliment, btw), a little funny, and mostly likeable. The one thing it wasn't is "complicated" (most things aren't; it's just something people say). 

We came home and I had to make the croque monsieur from the movie -- I googled Ina Garten's recipe on the way home to make sure I remembered it right (it was either that or lavender ice cream or chocolate croissants and those are a little outta my league). Too many more Nancy Myers movies and I will be up to Meryl Streep's fightin' weight in no time flat. (And then, I'll obviously marry my architect, Steve Martin.)