The Silliness of Sophistication: Our Resort Experience

Sophistication. Okay, so I didn't have to look up how to spell it correctly. That's how I know I have at least a little of it, somewhere. I am a middle-class, stay-at-home mom, who homeschools her two boys, likes to cook, read, blog, and shoot guns. I grew up a Tom-boy at heart, playing football with the boys out back. I lick my fingers when eating BBQ sauce, slurp the bottom of my cup when using a straw, and still don't understand why anyone needs two forks and two spoons at fancy restaurants. I prefer jeans, a t-shirt, and ponytail, when relaxing. I've never had a pedicure, and still can't apply my eye-shadow correctly. Nope, not much sophistication happening here. However, I do make a habit of placing my napkin on my lap, avoiding elbows on the table, and have a huge purse fetish...so, I am not a complete lost cause, I guess.

The spa resort

Back in 2009, I thought I would splurge and pamper my husband for his 40th birthday, with a weekend trip to a local Spa Resort. A weekend without kids, relaxing, and trying new cuisine! Sounded perfect to me! I should of known what I was getting into when we arrived and they offered to park our car. We never use valet, as our legs work perfectly fine. Knowing that I had to tip the guy every time we came and went from the property, we found ourselves making a mad dash to and from the car. It gave me a nervous twitch of sorts, thanks to my frugal ways. Next up was the massages I scheduled for both of us. We have had massages in the past, but none where they instruct us to change into fluffy white robes and slippers, and wait in the luxury lounge area. Once in there, we found an assortment of snacks, hot teas, and soothing music. Is it possible to overindulge on complimentary snacks? Why yes, yes it is. That is, once we figured out how to use the automatic hot water pitcher for the tea. Besides, obsessing over my robe the whole time, which shifted open each time I moved, is hardly my idea of relaxing in class. 

The restaurant

The icing on the cake came when I took my husband over to the five-star restaurant on the property, for dinner. There was a wedding going on in the main restaurant, so they seated us in the the adjoining building. It was an old carriage house that had been converted into an elegant restaurant. The inside was gorgeous, with a vaulted ceiling, inlayed stones, and a massive fireplace. After looking over the menu, it was clear that there would be no ordering of cheeseburgers. Not a problem, since we love to try new things! My husband ended up ordering squab. Squab is a young domestic pigeon that tastes like dark chicken. All was going well until the waiter brought the plates out and placed them in front of us. My husband's eyes grew wide, as a silent laugh escaped his mouth. Since the place was quiet, with only the sound of silverware clanging on plates, I quickly glanced up at him to give him the "Shhh" look. That's when I saw it...

Photo Credit to Virtual Memoirist
(We didn't take a picture at the time,
so I found one online that looked just like it!)

Sticking out of his entree, as if the bird itself was playing hide-and-seek, was a single dried squab leg with the claws still attached. At first glance, one would think the chef made a horrific mistake and forgot to remove the leg. However, the atmosphere suggested that this was their idea of a fancy garnish to the dish. My husband picked up the claw and began to turn it ever so slowly in his hand. Confusion and  amazement crossed over his face, all at once. He leaned over quietly and in all seriousness whispered, "Am I suppose to eat this?" All at once we busted out laughing, to the point of tears running down my face. Fellow diners began to look over at us, as we tried to regain our composure. Unfortunately, it started all up again when the waiter came by and asked us, "How is everything?" At one point my husband suggested he use the claw as a toothpick, causing my tears to flow yet again. I am educated enough in the culinary world to know what a Tartare is or even a Croquembouche. I even know that certain wines pair with certain foods. But, sophistication was at a whole new level for us that night. A level waaay beyond my comprehension. Now don't get me wrong, I think the chef is highly talented and he did cook delicious food. But, the day I agree that a squab claw protruding its way out of a meal, as an elegant feature...someone slap some sense into me. 

Me, trying to take yet another stray animal

Sure, the overall experience was enlightening, comical, and fun. But, given a million dollars, I still want to park my own car, make a homemade meal bigger than the size of a quarter, and not have someone rushing over to wipe my crumbs off the table with each bite. If sophistication means trying to force sense out of something completely senseless, then I want no part of it. The highlight of the whole trip was finding this stray kitten, while riding bikes on the back property. However, the hard part was getting it to stop following me. Yes, at one point I was trying to figure out how to smuggle it back into my room and take it home with me, until my husband talked some sense into me. Lesson learned...we prefer a resort that offers target shooting, ATV's, and all you can eat Southern-style food. Okay, still add the massage in there, minus the fluffy robes. It's not to say that I can't conform or mold into what it takes to be a high-class, uppity, sophisticated individual. I simply have no desire to. It feels stuffy and stiff to me. I think one can still have class, without all of the mumbo jumbo senseless things. What can I say, I'm just a simple country girl at heart, who loves to live a simple life, all while getting my hands dirty!