Prose Poem: Jed Boal and the great restaurants

 

Great restaurants give me indigestion.

Not so Mr. Jed Boal, who reports on things

for KSL TV. 

Take, for instance, the noted Wasatch

Pioneer Chop House in Vernal, Utah.

I happened to be there one evening,

picking at a dispirited cobb salad,

when in strode Jed Boal with his

entourage.

He comandeered a table right

in front of the massive stone fireplace

and began firing orders to the flock

of wait persons that surrounded him

like obsequious totem poles.

"Mushrooms sauteed in Irish butter!"

he barked.

"Dinner rolls so light and fluffy 

they could double for cottonwood

fluff!" he shouted.

"And a round of birch beer for

everyone in the place!" he finished,

flourishing his cape like a stage

magician.

The wait staff automatically brought

him a large platter of smoking

prime rib. He tucked into it

with Falstaffian gusto. 

Meanwhile, I had given up on

my cobb salad. 

It was thin and timid.

Between gargantuan bites of meat

Mr. Boal looked over at me,

saw my weary dyspeptic expression,

and bounded over to me.

"What's wrong, man?" he demanded,

slapping me on the back in that

hail-fellow-well-met manner that 

has won him so many awards from

the Utah Broadcasters Association.

"The salad's not to my liking" I told him.

I swear I heard trumpets blare as Mr. Boal

reached into his red velvet weskit to

produce a small green vial.

"Here, my boy" he told me grandly.

"Put a drop or two of this cuisine revitalizer

onto your food -- any dish at all -- and 

your taste buds will swoon!"

His manner was imperious.

So I took the proffered vial,

shook two drops on my salad,

and forked in a mouthful.

By golly, he was right! Suddenly

I was enjoying the best meal of my life.

I gobbled up the rest of my salad in a trice.

But when I turned to thank Mr. Boal

he was gone. Leaving behind nothing

but a trail of twenty-dollar tips.

That was two years ago. Since then

I've tried to see Mr. Boal to get some

more of his wonderful cuisine revitalizer

or get him to reveal the recipe But

every time I show up at the KSL studios 

with my story they toss me out on my ear.

I've written to him, emailed him, tried to 

phone him. With no luck.

So I've decided that the next time

he's on-air in the studio I will be

directly above him on the roof and

tear off pieces of it until there's a 

hole big enough for me to be lowered

down to him.

It's not as crazy as it sounds;

it worked once before long ago

in Capernaum.