I finally got around to reading the food section in last week’s paper and discovered a sad item… Melrose in the Park Hyatt will be closing on 31 July for a complete renovation and “re-concept”.
If they had a list of the world’s most sneaky dogs, my first border collie, Tasha, would have easily been in the top ten. Her needs always took precedence over anyone or anything else’s and she would go to great lengths to get what she wanted, especially when it concerned food.
RWT and I went to Melrose for our anniversary in May and had a rather disappointing meal that cost a considerable amount of money. So then why is the news of their closure sad? Melrose is the only place I know of in the area that provides fine dining and ballroom-style dancing.
Tasha did not start out as a food obsessed dog. In fact, early on in her life she was a bit picky like most border collies. There was a point in time when you could leave a plate of food on the floor, walk out of the room and she would not touch it. But then my mother got a hold of her during my junior year of college and my first couple of years with RWT (when I lived in apartments that did not allow dogs). After my mother convinced the dog that food was the end-all and be-all of the universe (my mother was good at doing this to people too!), Tasha turned into quite the little piggie.
The night we went to Melrose, everyone on our side of the tragically L-shaped dining room (with the exception of a group of women having a business meeting) got up to dance at one point or another during the evening. And they were all obviously experienced dancers. So I suspect the other patrons were there for the dancing more than the food, which was also our primary reason for choosing Melrose for our anniversary dinner.
People say that dogs cannot feel regret. Well, they never met Tasha. I arrived home from work one day, took a look at the dog and knew something was very, very wrong. She had “guilt” written all over her fuzzy black and white face. I walked with trepidation into the kitchen and saw it… an empty ziploc bag on the floor.
The dance floor at Melrose is basically an overgrown entryway with waiters adeptly charging across it at full speed, but at least it is a place to dance. We don’t have much interest in going out to a smoke-filled bar or deafeningly-loud club, but want to be able to get up between the main course and dessert and do the rumba or to linger over dessert and dance a tango. Melrose offered that.
When I had left for work that morning, the ziploc bag contained two freshly baked loaves of oatmeal maple bread. (Sometime while being brain-washed by my mother, Tasha had also learned that ziploc baggies always contained goodies and would rip into them no matter what the contents.) Now these were not petite little loaves of bread or light, airy loaves of bread, but big, hearty loaves. And they were nowhere to be seen. Well, that is not exactly true – one look at Tasha’s sides and it was pretty apparent where most of the bread ended up.
In addition to navigating between people foxtrotting & waltzing, the staff at Melrose is also well trained to wait for those couples to return to their tables before clearing away plates or bringing out the next course, so things ran smoothly considering all the interruptions to the service. And, although the music provided by the live band did not always provide an easy tempo for us novices, dancing was at least an option and we managed to dance to many of the songs. It was a fun night for us overall.
At that point I started yelling at the dog using a word that is particularly appropriate to call a female dog, plus a few other choice expletives. Tasha zoomed outside via the dog door and I followed to continue my tirade (and to look for the rest of the bread). As I was outside thoroughly cussing out the dog, I heard a noise from the neighbor’s yard. I looked over and there was the 10-year-old daughter of our neighbor hiding behind a tree. Our neighbor, the base chaplain. Great. So we took the lecture back inside.
It makes me start to wonder if RWT and I have simply come too late to social ballroom dancing. Did we arrive just in time to witness its demise? But one would never think that was true if they went to Melrose on a Saturday night and saw all the people who were there obviously to dance first and eat second.
After inadvertently expanding the vocabulary of my neighbor’s daughter, I walked into my living room (still yelling at the dog) and noticed that the pillows on my couch were all messed up. Aaaaack! Not only did that dog steal the bread, she was up on the couch too! I started straightening the couch pillows (while now yelling at Tasha about being on up the couch) when I stopped and started laughing hysterically.
Why are there no other places around here to get good food and dance all in one location? There are plenty of salsa dancing venues. Numerous milongas (where one goes to dance the Argentine tango). Bars & nightclubs abound. And there are also dedicated ballroom dance halls, but eating the food there is risking one’s health and the vibe is definitely more competitive than social. So even with the overpriced, mediocre food, we’d go back to Melrose, just for the ambiance and the dancing.
Stuffed way down in the corner of the couch and covered with the pillows was three-quarters of one of the missing loaves of bread. It was all covered in sand, and upon further exploration, I found a shallow hole dug in the back yard. The ground outside was too hard for proper burial, so Tasha stashed her treasure in the couch. That was funny enough, but what really cracked me up was the mental picture of the dog trying to get that large loaf of bread through the 8”-wide dog door. Did she try to walk through with it crosswise in her mouth and the bread hit on both sides of the door and stopped her in her tracks? Did she push it through? Did she go outside first and drag it out? I’m sure it was quite the dilemma for her at the time.
And wouldn’t a place like Melrose only with better food for less money have an even larger following? I do think there is an audience (exactly how many is the question) who want to put on nice clothes, go to someplace elegant & classy, eat a good meal and do some dancing. I like to think that a restaurant providing that would be a success, but I am afraid we’ll just never find out.
Luckily, there was no lasting harm done as a result of the bread theft. Tasha did not eat for two days, but was no worse for wear. I made more bread. The neighbor’s child eventually lost her fear of me. And my hissy-fit did nothing to stop the dog in her quest for self-indulgence. But I’ll save the story involving Tasha, a pound of M&M’s, a pound of Starburst and a ghostly, reappearing image of Christ for the next time I want to rant about dining and dancing…
Confused? (BTW – Scarborough Fair is a waltz.)
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