Earlier in the week, Natalie had invited me to a party that was being held by the so-called Master Baker, an enigmatic figure whose baked goods are said to trigger orgasm and cure cancer at the same time. I was intrigued. We agreed to meet in Chinatown and stroll to the Master Baker’s apartment in TriBeCa from there.
I was late to our rendezvous — thanks to the capricious Q train — but met Natalie soon after I arrived. However, when she walked over I noticed that she was being followed by several tall, blonde people wearing backpacks. “They’re Dutch,” she said, “and they need our help.”
After depositing them at a nearby Vietnamese restaurant (Dank u wel!), we continued on our trip to the Master Baker’s abode. Lo and behold, a chill party awaited us! They were watching an absolutely terrible Australian zombie film and were doing shots of pear-flavored vodka. Natalie insisted that the Master Baker showcase her abilities, and she obliged by making almond tassies for us. Mind you, she and everyone else at the party were ridiculously drunk at this point. And they weren’t half bad, considering that she was wasted and we were all crowding the kitchen screaming, “I’M HELPING! I’M HELPING!!!”
Last night was special.
