Elsewhere, Coach was also itching to avoid the dinner because of the perceived weirdness that this “night lunch” had basically devolved into a double date with him and Cece as one of the couples. As you’ll recall, they went out on their first date months ago, and she never texted him back. Winston told him to suck it up: “Be a man, Coach! Be there by six, and bring a bottle of wine. And don’t be cheap, either. Bertie is a Somalian.” (Ha! I think sommelier is the word you’re looking for, Winny the Bish.) Cece was clearly nervous, too, and they pre-gamed with some Scotch to ease their nerves. Unfortunately, the nerves were back up when Abby barreled into the loft, barely missing a beat before zeroing in on how Coach wanted to sleep with Cece — who didn’t necessarily feel the same.
The truth came out at the dinner. Between slurps, Coach claimed Cece had “iced [him] out.” She shot back, “You texted me back, ‘Happy Monday’; what am I supposed to do with that?” Winston tried to distract them by recommending the Fisherman’s Bisque (“Is that tang? That’s tang!”), but soon enough they were fighting as foreplay. Flash forward to the alley below Bertie’s apartment, where Coach and Cece tried to recreate their previous sexy makeout session. Emphasis on the word tried because it was the clumsiest hook-up this side of Juan Pablo and Sharleen’s first kiss on The Bachelor, plus plenty more bungled power squatting and near head injuries. They agreed to be friends, only to go in for another kiss that may have chipped Cece’s tooth.
So, what did you think, Newbies? Are you excited for more Linda Cardellini? Sad for the hotness we’ll lose in a possible Coach/Cece relationship? Or happy that Schmidt’s path to Cece’s heart is clear once more? Should Nick and Jess rock giant sunglasses all the time? Ponder your answers while you drink in the Dotables like one of Bertie’s many soups!
Nick: Well, I can’t wait to the meet the mysterious Abby Day.
Jess: Not mysterious… a jet-setter.
Winston: You know, I always imagined her with a French-speaking black husband, like a Jerome St. Pierre.
Schmidt [sees Nick combing his hair in the bathroom]: Oh good God, is that a common barber’s comb?!
Nick: Look, I just want to make a good impression on Jess’s sister.
Schmidt: Yeah, well I want Julia Child not to be dead, but here we find ourselves.
Nick: What is this?
Schmidt: A bar mitzvah.
Nick: I am not watching a kid get circumcised.
Schmidt’s Vision of His Future With Rachel:
“I’ll get her on the dance floor, ‘A little bit softer now… A little bit louder now,’ I sweep her off her feet, we get married, have a son named Elon, and at his bar mitzvah, I tell him the story of how we met at this bar mitzvah, not a dry eye in the house! Jewish continuity, et cetera, et cetera….” [And later, a new plan.] “[Nick,] I need you to ruin this bar mitzvah. And then I come out there and knock you out — again, it’ll be a stage punch, don’t worry, I’ve done productions of West Side Story, I was a Puerto Rican Shark. The rabbi will then come out, he’ll thank me, the hero, he’ll offer me his daughter’s hand, then five years from now when Rachel is pregnant with Elon’s little sister and we’re having a beautiful family New Year’s down in our vacation condo in the Florida Keys….”
Schmidt: Ahhhh, Rahk-khell, baruch atah ado-nice dress.
Rachel: Thank you! Uh… shabbat sha-hello!
Schmidt: Haha, yeah! It wasn’t as good as mine, but it was cute.
Rabbi Feiglin: No! You will not speak to my daughter. Rachel, this man is a nutball!
Schmidt: A nutball? How dare you! I’m a goofball.
Rabbi Feiglin: Sammy Davis Jr. was a goofball. You, sir, are no Sammy Davis Jr.
Jess: Hey, Outside Dave, have you seen a girl that looks like me but with chaos in her eyes?
Outside Dave: Sorry, I’m doing my taxes. [Inputs numbers on an imaginary calculator] Oooh! I’m taking in more than I’m spending. Quick question: Is peepee a write-off?
Abby: Mom was right, [Nick] does have an uptown butt.
Abby: I’d like to put that butt in ski pants.
Jess: What does that mean?