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 eatery called â€Å"Chateau Bordeaux.† An average sized deck projects out the rear of the café. Nine tables are arbitrarily positioned on this porch, each with its own single white light in the middle. It is night, and splendid wicker lights line the veranda, successively divided around six feet separated. Looking down at the inlet, brilliant lights from the internal Caribbean city reflect onto the sparkling water of the shore. The tables are set with strong white China and delightfully sparkled flatware. Tall precious stone wineglasses are put at each setting, each loaded up with super cold piã ±a coladas. Out of sight, you can make out the sweet tune of â€Å"Unchained Melody† being played delicately on a piano. Sitting at a table nearest to the bluff sits my sweetheart and I, looking at the brilliant perspective on the ocean. Jack is wearing a coal black tuxedo with a dark red dress shirt underneath the coat, and I am wearing a long, streaming dark, fitted, strappy velvet outfit with dark silk shoes and a little silver jewel neckband. My hair is delicately mixed by the steady exchange winds of the Caribbean, adding a practically ghostly impact to the disposition. As both of us plunk down to eat, we are dumbfounded with the impeccably arranged dinner set before us. The principle course sits close to the focal point of our table, just inches from the light. It is a huge, wooden bowl loaded up with plate of mixed greens from The Olive Garden and blended in with their own, natively constructed 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 delightful marinara sauce, and sprinkled with simply the best parmesan cheddar. Close to the wooden plate of mixed greens bowl in the focal point of the table on the contrary side of the light, there is a little wicker container loaded up with Olive Garden breadsticks, secured by a meager blossomed napkin. This fine dinner is simply asking to be expended.