goat cheese dumpling

When our friend Cathy had her first baby, Melany, Sarah, and I went to Chicago to offer our love and support.

One night, in a show of most tender friendship, the three of us left Cathy alone with her colicky newborn while we went out barhopping.

We wanted something cool, jazzy... someplace with martinis. We found a good one. Wish I could remember the name.

We sat down at the smooth black granite bar and ordered very dirty martinis. It was a little early for dinner. We looked at the menu and picked out some appetizers. Goat cheese dumpling? Let's try it.

The first bite left us all swooning.

The second bite only got better.

It was all I could do to take my time eating, to be fair and leave some for the others.

The dish was emptying faster than I liked.

I waited my turn as Sarah dug in with her fork, and I watched gluttonously as she raised all that goat-cheese-y deliciousness to her mouth... but just as she began to close her lips around that perfect taste of heaven, a fair-sized chunk separated itself from the mass and fell off, down... down... down... splat onto the bar.

There was no conscious thought or movement on my part.

As instinctively as a child pulls her hand away from a hot stove, I reached over by Sarah's elbow, wiped the mushy goo off the counter with my fingers, then popped it into my mouth.

I was mid-gulp when I noticed the gape-mouthed stares of my friends.

You did NOT just do that.

Oh, yes.

Yes, I did.