KOPPELMAN VS BALTHAZAR

Bob Koppelman had been gifted a meal voucher for $300 at Balthazar Restaurant, 80 Spring Street, Manhattan as an early Christmas present from one of his more affluent online subscribers.

Balthazar had been courting even more attention than usual in the press lately after the owner Keith McNally had publicly shamed a late night talk show host James Corden in an Instagram post for his rude behaviour with his staff over his fury at an egg yolk omelette for his wife which was found to have some egg white in it. McNally had famously referrred to Corden as 'a cretin of a man' and although there had been some attempt at reconciliation, it appeared to be more fragile than both the eggs and the two men's egos.

To Bob, he felt more than capable of standing up to McNally should there be cause to hold him to account although he had been advised by his highly strung partner, Julian, to stay in his lane and not attempt any critique of the place while he was there. "I know you, Bob. You'll go in there thinking you're a Frank Bruni or Tom Wells but you'll only get yourself booted out." Though the unusually sanguine Bob seemingly accepted this guidance from his partner at the time his advice was dispensed, secretly he felt tempted to approach his lunch at the famous venue just as he would a newly released recording of a Beethoven symphony.

"Why the hell not? I consider myself not too shabby when it comes to fine dining. Surely the stomach is no different to the ear when it comes to discerning excellence," he'd boasted to his viewers on his latest YouTube video update. "Have no fear, dear viewers! Your old pal Bob will make sure the name Koppelman will never be forgotten within those 'hallowed' Balthazarian walls. Infamy, infamy, they've all got it infamy!"

Rather relishing the prospect of a run in with the notorious McNally, Bob fancied himself to be something of a Robert Shaw style bounty Hunter from the film 'Jaws', looking to bait his big fish.

He started to sing to himself in jolly, Quint-like fashion.

"Farewell and adieu to you, fair Spanish ladies.
Farewell and adieu, you ladies of Spain
For we’ve received orders for to sail back to Boston.
And so nevermore shall we see you again”

It was now practically only a week or so until Christmas and Bob, although a self professed Grinch to friends and family, secretly loved his own private festive rituals in the city and his sponsored trip to Balthazar had arrived at just the right time for him to luxuriate in the atmosphere of a classic New York Christmas.

Waiting to be seated, Bob half expected (hoped) to be recognised but was pragmatic, knowing that this lunchtime crowd might not be quite his demographic. This was the pre-matinee sort with snotty nosed kids and their poor afflicted parents. Bob thanked God everyday he didn't have children of his own. He would have only ignored them at the expense of his many beloved classical music box sets anyway.

"Welcome to Balthazar, sir. Do you have a reservation with us?" a friendly seeming host asked him.

"Undoubtedly. You'll find me under the most auspicious name of Koppelman. You, however, can call me Bob."

"That's fine, Bob. Yes. I've found your table. Follow me and I'll show you."

And as soon as the host led Bob to his table, another one replaced her instantly at the stand to greet the next newly arrived customer.

"Are they cloning you all out back or something?" Bob queried.

"Not yet. We just rotate like taxis at a depot."

"How quaint!"

Perusing the menu, Bob had a sense that it would be a fun opportunity to go to town on the kind of things he rarely got to eat since his partner put him on a plant-based diet.

"Don't do it, friends! You might lose some weight around the middle but you'll lose twice as much in your soul," he'd lamented to his fan base back in the summer when he was first starting out on the strict culinary regime imposed upon him by his health obsessed boyfriend.

A waiter then emerged as gracefully as a ballet dancer.

"Would you like more time sir? I can come back?"

"No. I can be very decisive when I'm hungry. Now let's see, shall we?"

But upon opening the menu, Bob seemed to have put himself under unnecessary pressure to choose.

"I suspect it's going to be a fish day from head to tail. Or tail to head. What would Captain Ahab order, I wonder?"

Pondering while his waiter hovered, Kopppelman took an almost perverse delight in changing his mind each time he appeared ready to commit to his order like some kind of pantomime jape.

"I'll have the ... oh no I won't."

But then, in a flurry of inspiration, he ordered his entire sequence of dishes with aplomb.

"Escargots in garlic butter has to be first on the menu, followed by those tantalising sounding Nantucket Bay scallops and roasted King Salmon for my main. I must say you had me at winter squash purée and balsamic glaze."

"Very good, sir."

And with that Bob sat back to enjoy his glass of Chablis, taking in the scene of the restaurant on his phone camera.

Finally positioning his phone against the salt and pepper shakers, Bob started to live stream his luncheon experience in real time.

"It's very Boheme! Except there's no way any of those out of pocket artists could afford to dine here. Maybe if Musetta scored some rich trick to buy her lunch."

Koppelman was feeling pretty content as he was finishing up the salmon and had little complaint although he was looking keenly for something to raise issue with.

"How is everything, sir?"

"It is heaven sent. Quite perfect, thank you."

After leaving an entirely clean plate devoid of any remaining scraps, Bob was handed a dessert menu which he chose from in double quick time.

"That caramelized banana ricotta tart with banana ice cream has my name on it."

"Certainly, sir. Excellent choice."

"Yes. I thought so."

And with that Bob eagerly awaited his banana treat as he talked to his live audience some more.

"I hope I'm providing adequate entertainment for you all. I'm afraid, unlike the recordings of various over inflated talents in the modern classical world, this meal so far has shown real integrity and genuine class. Bravo!"

Clanging his dessert spoon against his topped up glass of wine, Bob drew attention to himself conducting his own one man show in front of his smart phone.

"Sorry, folks! I'm a content creator and have a hungry audience to feed."

But no one was listening.

It was only upon his first breaking of the banana tart with his shiny spoon that Koppelman found his first flaw in an otherwise perfect afternoon of food.

"Aha!"

Noticing several pieces of unglazed banana surrounding the tart lying in the semi-frozen lake of ice cream he found two or three of them bruised on their opposite side.

"What have we here, dear friends? I spy with my cataract eye some bruised banana. Is someone in the kitchen trying to pull a sly one over Bob Koppelman? I'm telling you, you need to get up pretty, pretty early to catch me out."

Quickly hailing his waiter over, Bob asked for a replacement dessert in as solemn a tone as he could muster, then adding some histrionics for extra flavour.

"Looks like all that glitters, or in this case glazed, is not gold."

As the waiter returned to the kitchen with the flagged tart Bob turned to his phone to continue his ongoing commentary of the afternoon's rapidly unfolding events.

"Friends! I assure you I wasn't looking for trouble but this banana tart has gone utterly and woefully pear shaped!"

It was at this point that a sweaty, harried looking gentleman approached Koppelman with a sense of urgency and a British accent.

"You looking for clout, fuck face?"

"Whuh?"

"I said, are you looking for clout? I hear you've got a problem with the banana or some dumb shit you've clearly made up."

Koppelman, taken by surprise by this aggressive man, quickly put two and two together.

"Ah. You must be the infamous McNally!"

"And you must be the infamous McWally! Come on, big boy. Let's get you back onto the street where you belong."

But Koppelman held firm and remained seated at his table.

"I have New York, nay Manhattan privileges, my friend. You are just an anglo immigrant who's taking up some rather precious real estate in my city with your over inflated ego!"

Bob was proud of that although he would only use the word immigrant related to this pompous white ass. He considered himself consistently progressive on almost all issues, including late stage abortion - "abort as many as you can. I honestly don't care. Just so long as you don't do it in front of me!"

McNally, seeming to be on the verge of actual violence, clocked that Koppelman was filming the event and so withdrew his own phone like a gun in a holster and started filming the music critic himself directly on his Instagram live.

"How do you like the tables turned on you now, you bald prick?"

But Koppelman seemed utterly unfazed, in fact he rather enjoyed the combat.

"I see your remaining greasy hair is clinging onto your limey dome for dear life, fearful that your ego will self destruct as soon as it moults like a dog. That hair is the last vestige of your youth my friend. It comes to us all in the end! Be warned!"

McNally, sensing Koppelman had come for this very fight, decided a different tack.

"Okay. I can see you've got some dog in you. So I'm gonna get you another banana because I can tell you're a little fruity."

And with that, the initial confrontation came to an abrupt pause as McNally left Koppelman and retreated out of the back of the restaurant.

"I think we have a winner, folks!"

Having held his ground, Koppelman was feeling positively victorius and even more so when he saw McNally return with his replacement dessert.

"I must say you Brits are a fesity bunch. I consider this my 1776 moment."

McNally smiled as he waited for Koppelman's verdict on the dish.

"I hope that's big enough for you."

And with that, Bob looked down to find an intimdatingly large pink dildo rested on his bowl covered in ice cream.

Genuinely speechless for a moment, Koppelman appeared to have been utterly torpedoed by McNally's gross antics.

Until ... he rotated the dish to observe it from every angle as if judging a finalist in an elite cooking competition.

"I appreciate what you've done for me here, McNally. But I'm afraid it stills looks a little bruised."

"An upended table has a certain sound to it that would rival the most fierce of all symphonic climaxes and it appears that I had incited McNally's magnum opus of outbursts beyond all others. I consider that, my friends, a genuine triumph."

Back out on the street after the police were still interviewing McNally over his attack on his customer, Koppelman seemed as happy as a kid at Christmas.

"You know friends? I might have to do more of these restaurant vids.There's gold in them there hills."

And with a piratey laugh, Koppelman signed off, sated by his afternoon's work.

"Farewell and adieu to you, fair Spanish ladies.
Farewell and adieu, you ladies of Spain
For we’ve received orders for to sail back to Boston.
And so nevermore shall we see you again”