Sunday, December 9, 2007

Felicia's Compost Lounge

As Felicia dragged a 50-lb five gallon bucket out of the lounge on Saturday night, a patron asked her with polite curiosity, “What the hell is in that?” The answer, dear patron, is compost. Yes, all of those limes that you don’t eat, your squeezed-out lemon wedges, the vodka-soaked cucumbers from the infusions, the fresh grated ginger-lime pulp that has been pressed through a sieve, the stray olives, and the occasional toothpick that sneaks in, all of these lovely items are brought home to be added to the compost that nurtures Felicia’s garden. Today’s uneaten pizza crust = tomorrow’s homegrown mint in your mojito. Felicia’s compost is also known in her neighborhood as the Wildlife Bar & Restaurant. Many a bird has picked at Felicia’s pie crusts, squirrels have chased each other friskily through her deteriorating carved pumpkins while nibbling on olives saturated with vodka, and the woodchucks…well let’s just say they have a little addiction problem. All summer long they would come get drunk on gin-soaked cucumbers and those bright red cherries you left at the bottom of your manhattan glass. Occasionally one of the woodchucks would disappear, most likely due to cirrhosis of the liver or a wife at home nagging him, “You reek like whiskey, Chucky! And is this some other gal’s fur on your collar? You’ve been at that dang compost bar again, haven’t you!” And then Felicia wouldn’t see him for a few weeks, until he’d stop by to visit his old friends at the compost, saying, “I’ll just have one,” and, well, you know the rest of the story. Rest assured, your unconsumed cocktail scraps will not go to waste.

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