We were used to asserting our positions at the top of the food chain, whether by eating lesser animals, litigating, or annihilating the Locust Horde.
Where we met: Orillas in Wilmington, Delaware
What we ordered: When dessert comprises your only serving of fruit or vegetable in a meal, you might be eating among dinosaurs. And we were, kind of: one of us was experimenting with the Paleo diet, whose subscribers binge on meat in the hope that truckloads of protein will make them muscular. Clearly we’re not remembering that the Venus of Willendorf was the Playboy Bunny of Paleolithic times. In any event, the rest of us were happy to dig our stone tools into shrimp sautéed in garlic, paper-thin slices of jamon, baby scallops, Mahi ceviche, and spicy Merguez sausage. We finished our dinner with tempura-fried eggplant drizzled with honey. Sounds odd, but trust me, it was the bees’ knees.
The conversation: was about the perks and problems of being professional prodigies. Neither the guy who’s started three companies nor the woman who’s improving an entire state’s education system have celebrated their thirtieth birthdays yet. One of our ranks is fated to join a top-notch, global law firm, though I admire him more for inventing his own signature cocktail (extra dry vodka martini with basil), an invention he’ll need all the more when he starts billing hours for a living. If you think our think tank could solve any dilemma, though, you’d be wrong: we could not decide on the most respectful method of flagging down a transgender bartender. This remains open for debate, as does the question of what exactly entrepreneurs do at shared workspaces. Work? Too obvious. Gears of War marathons? Closer to the truth.