Tostones pa' los tostados

"You can buy us lunch if you want; we're definitely not going to buy you lunch." — Val Prieto, The Babalú [Faux] Radio Hour, Sept. 19, 2007


The last time Val Prieto heard the words "We're doing lunch," they came from the mouth of his telephone buddy Emilio Estefan, back in the days when Val staked his reputation on the word of the Estefans. He knows now what their word is worth. The only thing Val got to eat on the Estefans' dime (besides you know what) was crow, unaccompanied by Emilio or Gloria. Oh, yes, he got something else, but not from the Estefans — the Review of Cuban-American Blogs, the gift that keeps on giving.

Now it is Val who has extended the "We're doing lunch" invitation to his minions. He must be beset by another of his bouts of insecurity because he's "invited" (in a Dutch way) the Babalunian faithful to gather at a local eatery at lunch time to pay tribute to him (in the Ottoman fashion). For sure my ears will be ringing today, since to Val's eternal chagrin the RCAB is the one subject that everybody always brings up in conversation with him nowadays. My shadow will float like a benediction over the gathered sycophants, admonishing them that reason and honor are paths that are always open to those who would take them. Val promises to have "really bad hangover," which means that his devotees will see him at his best. I hope their idol will not disappoint them, but idols usually do.

Henry, the gentleman-in-waiting at Babalú, has not signalled whether he will attend; perhaps he is planning a grand entrance carrying the roasted pig (no, not Val); or else his tastes are more in conformity with his faux Belén education. It is possible, though, that another Belén alumni, down on his luck these days, may be eating there while he cruises the prospects outside.

I may send an observer to the proceedings, as I did when the BUCLers protested outside Versailles Restaurant. I was the first to report here that Val was not there, and that a surprise character from another blog, lately at war with Babalú, had been the one who tipped Henry to the presence of The Police guitarist at the restaurant. I have many eyes and ears among the Babalunian fifth-columnists.

Enjoy your meal and don't even think of passing the tab to Val. He'll be comfortably and conveniently passed out under the table.