Majestic

Tonight, I ate an eye ball. It would almost sound like a Katy Perry song if I said "I liked it," but I didn't. It was a fish eye ball, so small, delicate, sophisticated, but I ate it when it had connective tissue hanging from it. And without knowing that its consistency would be that of a soft acorn or a stale gum ball with a lollipop stick bisecting it. By the time I thought it tasted tolerable, it was down my throat and any residual flavor was washed down by a gulp of Chardonnay. Purposefully. It creeped me out.

I went to the Majestic tonight and I feel like I won some culinary credibility tonight.. with myself.

That's right, that's an eye ball, and some pretty clever (macabre) photography. The Poor Fish looks a little Edvard Munch-Screamy.

I know, appalling. I was really surprised that no one noticed that I was giggling nervously as I gently separated the eye ball from its socket encasement. Should I rate this PG-13 perhaps? And what you can't see is the entrails (entrail? there was only one). It didn't have a bad consistency until you hit the middle. What is that, eye core? The eye stick? I'm grossing myself out now.

The Majestic is a nice place, fancy, dignified, nice lighting, intimate dropped ceilings. I'll say in advance I wasn't a fan of my waitress. I didn't feel I was adequately.. served. Despite the fact that I wasn't a pushy patron with a pink Blackberry (to my right), a lady who dinners (with her Blackberry flashing green through most of my meal), half of a pair of women who were sharing champagne on ice (both tables in front), or one of several rude men at a business dinner to my left who were playing with their phones, I deserved just as much attention.

Whatever. She was much too fragile of a waitress to not faint while I was conducting my surgery, so good thing she stayed away. But let's start at the beginning. The Majestic is co-owned one of my favorite Alexandria chefs, Cathal Armstrong, who runs Restaurant Eve, Eamonn's, and PX. I wanted fish tonight but I didn't realize I'd get so lucky. So, first I had bread. There was honey in there somewhere.

Then I had a great spinach salad with shallots, toasted bread crumbs, caramelized onions, and a balsamic vinaigrette.Then, it came. The orata, aka gilted seabream. Almost sounds like a type of bangle sold at Tiffany's. It was served with a chilled fennel salad (with pesto cream), accompanied by orange slices, capers, and kalamata olives.

From left

To right

I got wine, too. These are the ladies with the tableside champagne chiller. Also, notice the clever mise-en-abime. If they are going to drink alcohol from a container in a container, I can make erudite French artistic references.

Eye ball intact. I always thought fish cheeks were some kind of delicacy, but these weren't. I tried eating those too.

This fish was amazing; it was like creme brulee of the mer. The orata was grilled, clearly intact, so the skin of the fish was crispy and warm and delicately came off the flesh. The flesh was delicate and gladly left the bones, but was, I don't know, delicious. I haven't had myself a whole fish since Greece on Santorini. Maybe one time in my life I preferred to have a lecherous man serve me food instead of tonight's cold fish.