My Dream Meal :: essays research papers

High on a peak sitting above the shoreline of Cruz Bay in St. John of the U.S.V.I., there sits a little café called â€Å"Chateau Bordeaux.† A fair sized deck projects out the rear of the eatery. Nine tables are haphazardly positioned on this yard, each with its own single white flame in the inside. It is night, and brilliant wicker lights line the veranda, successively separated around six feet separated. Looking down at the sound, beautiful lights from the internal Caribbean city reflect onto the sparkling water of the shore. The tables are set with strong white China and flawlessly sparkled flatware. Tall gem wineglasses are put at each setting, each loaded up with super cold piã ±a coladas. Out of sight, you can make out the resonant tune of â€Å"Unchained Melody† being played delicately on a piano. Sitting at a table nearest to the precipice sits my sweetheart and I, looking at the brilliant perspective on the ocean. Jack is wearing an ebony tuxedo with a dark red dress shirt underneath the coat, and I am wearing a long, streaming dark, fitted, strappy velvet outfit with dark glossy silk shoes and a little silver precious stone jewelry. My hair is tenderly mixed by the consistent exchange winds of the Caribbean, adding a practically creepy impact to the state of mind. As both of us plunk down to eat, we are perplexed with the stunningly arranged feast set before us. The fundamental course sits close to the focal point of our table, just inches from the flame. It is an enormous, wooden bowl loaded up with serving of mixed greens from The Olive Garden and blended in with their own, custom made dressing. At every one of the two spot settings that we sit, there is a huge plate of blessed messenger hair pasta beat with the perfect measure of scrumptious marinara sauce, and sprinkled with simply the best parmesan cheddar. Close to the wooden serving of mixed greens bowl in the focal point of the table on the contrary side of the flame, there is a little wicker crate loaded up with Olive Garden breadsticks, secured by a flimsy bloomed napkin. This fine dinner is simply asking to be expended.