Volume 4, Issue 22
October 31 - November 13, 2002
by Rob Williams
Opal
9th & Lincoln
Denver, Colorado
I read the news that day with pang of sadness. Between snipers, West Nile Virus, terrorists and looming war hanging over our collective heads, it takes a lot to get under my skin. Richard Harris died. Well, if you don't know who he was, your 8-year-old nephew knew him as "Professor Dumbledore" in two Harry Potter movies. If you are more like me you'll recognize him as the hard-drinking, whaling sea captain from Orca , or at least recall him as "English Bob" in Unforgiven . So why lament the passing of an actor whose golden years were spent entertaining wanna-be 8 -year-old sorcerers? Maybe you didn't see Camelot. Maybe you missed A Man Called Horse.
A man's man. An actor's actor. A paragon of the drinking community, whose gentle head now rests among the clouds alongside co-stars Oliver Reed, Rex Harrison and Richard Burton. Truth be known Harris quit drinking in the '80s after a long bout with the bottle, but his drunken tirades, affairs and fisticuffs are the stuff of legend. I needed a fitting place to send old Richard off. A place to indulge my inner cad, drown my scruffy Irish liver and sate my inner longings. So you might be surprised that I picked Opal. Nothing remotely scruffy or Irish about it. In fact it's an Asian fusion place with a high dollar wine list and real white table cloths.
Citizens, I don't know about you, but I believe in the old Irish tradition of the wake. He's gone; let's toast his passing, get loaded and have a bite to eat. And let's spare no expense. Still, it's no fun to mourn alone so I checked the black book. I needed an upscale girl, someone who would understand my need to indulge, who would cajole my restless heart, wrung out like yesterday's bleached bar rag. Someone who would drive me home. I chose a dynamo of a designer named Liz. Maybe you've seen her around: 5-4, a buck-five soaking wet and dripping with New York attitude. Definitely the right girl for this night on the town.
In continental fashion we arrived late, around 9 pm, which is one of the reasons I picked Opal--plenty of time to overstay your happy hour elsewhere before sitting down to dine. Looking over the menu I spied a variety of earthy delights as our waiter appeared with cocktails of whiskey and vodka. Taking the initiative, I ordered appetizers of tuna and fresh water eel.
Between mouthfuls of sushi, Liz remarked, "Wow, you bossed that waiter around a little." Then winked. "I think I like it." Now, maybe it's un-pc to order your lady's food these days, but I was left with the thought, 'what would Richard do?' Quickly banishing from my mind the notion of chasing the waiter through the restaurant with a cutlass, I ordered Liz a shrimp tempura roll, halibut, octopus and salmon, and for myself some kobe beef.
Friends, there are two ways to try it here. The $25 sirloin or the black label $7 per ounce serving (minimum of three, please)--Again, after chasing my thoughts with iced whiskey, I demanded the sirloin, blood rare and pagan. Maybe I was overacting at that point but Liz was eating it up with a fork and spoon--by the way, you can almost cut Kobe Beef with a spoon--almost.
We spent dinner discussing cinema of old, method acting and cursing the vilification of fur. Liz's fork darted back to my plate again and again. Ye gods, I could convert an army of vegans with but a single plate of this. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the Caramel Creme dessert with fresh wild berries, but everything was just clicking right along. Everything rich, inviting, warm, friendly. I was talking about the meal. Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm sure the subdued light and overall ambience helped, too.
Before long I had escorted Liz into the bar for an aperitif. Cognac for me, kahlua and cappucino for the lady. Taking a moment to light her cigarette, she admitted she had never seen a Richard Harris movie that she could recall. "But you saw Gladiator, right? He was Marcus Aurelius." "Not my kind of film," she said. Again I was left thinking: what would HE do? So, raising my snifter and draining its smoky contents in one forceful pull, I gave her a quote from Richard. When the bottle was empty, and I had this much left in my glass, I looked at my watch, and it was 20 past 11, and I said, "This is my last drink."
She smirked and said, "Come on Olivier, I'll give you a ride home." With a wink to the sky, I let the lady have her way.
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