My girlfriend’s boyfriend took me here for my birthday after he learned that my Dummy Boy took me to a Dummy restaurant for my birthday.
The space isn’t as romantic as I’d hoped it’d be — well lit and spacious instead of dark and cozy — which was fine with me because he’s not my boyfriend and I’m not that kind of girl. The food, however, was a perfect balance of romantic and sensual. The salmon tempura and roe amuse bouche was presented as if a corsage, and its unique mix of flavors and textures felt like a first kiss with a boy I like. The scotch egg was similar but more sensual, like a deep kiss with a man I fantasize about — lightly crispy on the outside, rich and savory in the inside. The foie gras terrine was unusual because it was dressed — a top layer of mulled wine gelee and sprinkles of hazelnut on the side — to look like fancy chocolates, which we nibbled at while laughing about something I don’t remember. The butternut squash soup — I usually don’t order soup because spooning soup and bringing it to the mouth makes people look ridiculous — turned out to be more romantic than sloppy because we shared it and he was sweet enough to tip the bowl for me to make it less awkward to get the last delicious spoonful. An elegant beet salad with poached pear reminded us to remain graceful.
I would never bring Dummy Boy here because he eats food like he’s a porn star. At Copine, they want diners to eat like they’re in a soft porn film directed by women. I like that. I also liked getting dressed up because Copine is that kind of place.
When my favorite best friend and I are feeling sad and hurt because our dummy boys are acting like dummies, we like to pretend we’re Jane Birkin — we dress just like her and sing “Je t’aime…moi non plus” together — and go to Gainsbourg for food and drinks and more.
We like going to Gainsbourg — named after notorious French singer and composer Serge Gainsbourg — when we’re sad because they offer drinks that most bars don’t offer, and at reasonable prices too! There’s the “Jane Birkin” — made with Danish vodka, pomegranate, cucumber, and soda — which tastes like Orangina. I like Orangina. There’s also the “Ugly American” — a shot of “Old Crow” whiskey paired with a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon — which I’ve never had because I’m not that type of girl, I don’t want to turn into that type of girl.
What my friend and I most enjoy about Gainsbourg is the simple, satisfying, and well-priced French food. We usually start with some olives and baguettes and an absinthe while we snuggle together in a cozy and darkly lit booth. This combination puts us in the mood to start talking shit about our dummy boys. Like how their wee wees malfunctioned at the wrong time and the shit we think they may be doing to us when we’re drunk and asleep. Soon, we crave something heartier and heavier. Like the pan seared hanger steak, cooked rare, paired with red wine of server’s choice. When the steak arrives, we pretend the steak is dummy boy. With each slice into the steak, we make mock dummy boy screaming noises. By the time we finish the steak and wine, we’re not feeling sad and hurt anymore. I like that.
When they have raw oysters, we get those too, paired with a “Jane Birkin.” We don’t make funny dummy boy noises when we eat those. We make funny happy girl noises when we eat them. I like that too, but not as much as I like the steak.
I like coming here even though I’m lactose intolerant. If I’m not in the mood to do the sexy, I’ll bring my gentle friend here after dinner, especially if I get the sense that he wants to go through the back door instead of the front door even though the front door is the easier door. By the time we get back to my place, I’ll need to do the number 2. So I do it. The extra milk in gelato (compared to ice cream) makes number 2 almost as runny as number 1 and loud enough for my gentle friend to hear. Usually he leaves before I finish. I like that.
When one of my girlfriends who isn’t lactose intolerant is sad because a boy doesn’t like her or anxious because she’s a crazy bitch, I’ll bring her here. Studies have shown that ice cream/gelato reduces anxiety and depression. I like that. But studies have also shown that if you eat too much of it, you’ll get fat. i don’t like that. Unless it happens to someone I don’t like. I like that.
I also like that most of their customers aren’t fat. The few I’ve seen who are, they treat well — even if they don’t want to and would prefer to sing funny mean songs about them — I like that, I like that they treat fat customers well. I like that they’re tolerant.