Boiler House | San Antonio, TX
I knew exactly what I wanted.
And I was going to get it.
I imagined the feeling of swirling the smoothness around my tongue.
Olives had been on my mind since the day before. And the fact that I had to wait to get em…well let’s just say the anticipation was a lot to bare.
The way I described what I wanted the day before was almost a recount of what it was like the last time.
And it served as the talk before the walk for what I was about to devour.
Look at that heap of Italian gold, nestled amongst a crumbled feta.
I gently coaxed an olive into my mouth with a little nudge from my fork.
The first bite sent a rush of bliss through my entire body. Ever so slightly dipped in brine, and ripe to perfection.
It was hard to pull away, and I didn’t succeed until after I had enjoyed my fill.
Even after the main course arrived, I kept going back to what began the night because it was that tasty.
I see why putting one of these in a martini makes it dirty. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.