Many Little Slices of Heaven

Every once in a while my idea of heaven is reshaped. Such is what happened as I helped my brother-in-law celebrate his birthda

I had never been to Tucanos before. I thought it was just another place of eating. No. It is not. It is a glimpse into heaven. As my physique will attest, I am not the most diet conscious gentlemen. I enjoy food very much. If all the money I spent on Chinese buffets were put into a savings account, I’m pretty sure I could pay a mortgage using only interest.

Then there is Tucanos. Walking in, I was glad to see that it was a buffet. That means I can skip the boring stuff that restaurants use to make me not get full on steak. So long vegetables; so long salad. The buffet table had lots of delicious foods to choose, but the brother-in-law warned me, “Be careful. I know it looks good, but you don’t want to fill up on buffet.” What!? Don’t fill up on buffet? Was I in a parallel universe where propriety was…you know…there?

We sat down and turned a little wooden block from red to green. This was a signal to the meat servers to approach us. “Meat server,” I thought. “I like the sound of that.”

Sure enough, within moments, the first gentleman appeared. “Who wants some rib eye steak?” Now, this gentleman did not carry a pad of paper upon which to document my meal. There was no time for that—not in heaven. Instead, he carried a hunk of rib eye steak on a skewer. My lunch mates were acquainted with the customs of heaven, so they lifted their tongs and pulled off a piece (or three) as the meat server cut it off the hunk.

Being the linear eater that I am, I thought I should finish my buffet items before beginning on the rib eye. But before I could even finish my half-serving of mashed potatoes, the meat server was back. “Sirloin tips for you?” Again, the tips were hanging from a skewer. He started slicing, and we started pulling fresh meat from a tender and juicy hunk. I had to make a priority shift. The buffet was there to fill in the gaps—both spatial and temporal—between the meats.

Before I go on, I must describe the meats in general. Everything was cooked to perfection. Even on each hunk, there was a gradation from rare to well-done. The seasoning was perfect. The quality was divine. There was pork, chicken, turkey, and beef that never quite. There was brisket, hot wings, garlic, sweetened, and bacon wrapped. As I ate, two words were battling in my mind for the right of description: decadent and heavenly.

After round four of the meat delivery, I started to feel like the word decadent was going to win out. The food was so rich and delicious. I found myself chortling at common humor. I felt the room changing into an ancient roman dining hall where I was reclined on my eating couch, sagging out of my loose fitting toga.

The meat server came around with another round of steak, and I waved him off. The meat server looked at me with a hint of disapproval. “You’re not slowing down, are you, sir?” Suddenly, I was thrust out of Rome, and into heaven. The harp music stopped as my own personal angel encouraged me to keep eating. “No, Steven,” I said. “I’m not slowing down. You are just not bringing what I need.”

Steven smiled, lifted the skewer of steak, and walked away with a spring in his step. “I’ll bring you what you need, sir. I’ll bring you what you need.”

As time when on, I learned to savor the sweet pork, the turkey wrapped bacon. Sure enough, Steven kept these things in great supply. After learning that I didn’t like the brisket, Steven stopped bringing it. With every approach, Steven begged me to keep eating. It seemed his only source of pleasure was watching me stuff my fat face.

Eventually, my mortality started to creep up on me. I could not continue this eating spree forever. Steven started softening the blow by bringing out more chicken and less beef. Then, came intermittent slices of roasted pineapple. With great emotional labor, I turned over the wooden block from green to red. The trip to heaven was coming to a close.

Like a guardian angel, Steven made one more approach to the table. “Are you sure you are finished? I can bring you anything you want.” After refusing him, he re-doubled his strength. “Maybe just some pineapple?” Again, he was turned away. He thanked us for eating and asked us to return. Then, he unfurled his wings and flew back into the clouds.

As we waddle to the car, my brother-in-law told me that we should revisit heaven on my birthday. We talked about how amazing our experience had just been, and I realized that the reason Tucanos is my idea of heaven is not only that the food is hair-raisingly delicious, but that the restaurant itself strokes my ego on both sides. First, it tells me that my need for social forbearance is not welcome. Then, as my belly is inner tube-tight, I get to reclaim my social forbearance to another human being. In this case, Steven. “Sorry Steven, your food is delicious, but I think I’d better stop,” I say. “How prudent of your, sir,” he replies. I can’t wait to go back.

Is it October yet?