The Forge: A Date with a Surgeon
Let's talk about balls, shall we? Not testicles, per se, but cohones, huevos, grit, moxie, pluck... you know, that magical thing it takes to really get a job done. If looks were all it took to get into my miniskirt, my last date would've had me naked before we hit the hostess stand. But this foodie femme fatale needs to be tantalized in equal parts by repartee and fine food.
The guy in this case was a surgeon. The cost was $350. And the restaurant was The Forge, that newly redone beauty on 41st Street. Why did he give me the deer-in-the-headlights look when our bill arrived? He did most of the ordering. Considering what my girlfriends have paid for their boobs, he should've had ample Benjamin-age. And why did he tell me he was an adventurous eater, only to order the most basic stuff on the menu?
First a little backstory. A while back, a reality-based television channel called out of the blue and asked me to audition for a show in development. The idea: focus on single girls who give dating advice but are also on the hunt. Seems they Googled "outspoken Miami single girl" and my name popped up first.
Not long ago, I got a call telling me someone would be flying in to film me on a date. I quickly called on a place where I knew the attention would be welcome: The Forge. Shareef Malnik didn't drop big bucks on that ostentatious remodel to have his restaurant fade into the background, for sure.
Within hours, I got the green light for the film crew. One issue down, one to go. Now I had to find a guy. I flipped through my Blackberry and found the perfect pawn--a gorgeous plastic surgeon I had met at a friend's dinner party. We had flirted the night away and I hoped to see him again, but when he left that night all he gave me was a business card. Somehow I had become Prince Charming and he Cinderella.