A Gastronomical
Misadventure
One day, my Pa had
some extra money from making shine and, being in a good mood, he gave me some
and told me to go out and get myself a good meal. So I decided to go to one of those fancy-shmancy
places where you have to wear a shirt and shoes.
When I arrived at
the place, a man came over and told me that I had to have a jacket in order to
get into the restaurant. When I told him
that I didn’t have one, he went into this room and came out with a spiffy
jacket with gold buttons on the front.
He helped me put it on then led into the restaurant.
As we walked among
the tables of folks eating their grub, I noticed that a lot of them were
staring at me. I sure was glad that I
thought to comb my hair before I left the trailer. I figured it was natural for those fine
people to be curious about a good-looking fellow like myself wearing a fine
jacket with gold buttons.
The guy took me to
a table right next to the swinging doors where the waiters came in and out with
trays of food. I was amazed that he
would give me such a special table. The
clatter of noise in the kitchen made me feel right at home.
Then a waiter with
a towel over his arm came over and put a menu in front of me and asked me if I
would care to order. I looked at all of
the meals listed and saw that they were written in some sort of foreign
language. But, luckily, there were
pictures of the food.
I pointed to one
that looked okay and said, “What’s this?”
He said, “That’s
vichyssoise. One of our finest meals.”
I said,
“Yeah. But what is it?”
He gave me a funny
look and said, “It’s basically potato soup.”
Well, I love
potato soup so I said, “That sounds good.
I’ll have that.”
The guy wrote down
my order on a small pad and walked off.
A moment later,
another guy came by with a glass of water, a bowl of salad, a cup of coffee and
some long, narrow pieces of bread.
The coffee was hot
so I had to pour some on my saucer to let it cool a little, first. Some of the people around me looked over as I
slurped it, and I figured they were out of coffee and were upset because I was
getting better service.
Just as I was
finishing the last piece of bread and the salad, the waiter brought my
soup. It sure smelled good. I couldn’t wait to dig into it. But when I put the first spoonful in my
mouth, I had to spit it out. The darned
stuff was cold. I couldn’t believe that
such a fancy-shmancy restaurant would serve cold food to its customers. Well, let me tell you: I called the waiter
back over and gave him heck.
I said, “This
stuff is cold. What kind of a place is
this, anyway?”
He rolled his eyes
and said, “But, sir….”
I wasn’t about to
take any lip from him and cut him off.
“Don’t ‘But, sir’ me. I demand to
see the owner of this place.”
He gave me a
defeated look and stalked off.
A little while
later, the waiter and another gentleman came over to my table.
The man said,
“What seems to be the trouble, Sir?”
I pointed to the
bowl of soup. “This potato soup is
cold. I’m not going to pay good money
for cold food. What kind of a place is
this, anyway?”
The man gave the
waiter a knowing look and said, “Have this taken away. We can’t have our best customers complaining
about cold food.” Then he turned to
me. “We value our customers, Sir. I’ll tell you what. Go ahead and pick out something from the
desert tray, and you can have it gratis.”
Not familiar with
foreign languages, I asked, “What does gratis mean?”
Smiling kindly, he
said, “That means you get it free. It’s
the least we can do for a fine gentleman like yourself.”
Somewhat
mollified, I nodded. “Okay. Let me see what I want.” I opened the menu and looked though the
desert section. I pointed to a picture
of ice cream with cherries on it. “This
looks good. I love cherries.”
The man looked
pleased. “Very good, Sir. That’s Cherry Jubilee. I’m sure you’ll find it very satisfying. It’s one of our finest deserts.”
The waiter scowled
and took away the bowl of cold soup. I
had a suspicion, then, that I was going to have more trouble with that guy.
Then the other
waiter came back with more coffee and bread.
As I saucered and slurped the coffee, the people around me began staring
at me, again. I understood how they felt
because I wasn’t particularly happy with the service, either.
However, I was
willing to let bygones be bygones because they were giving me free desert,
after all. So when the waiter brought me
the cherry desert, I didn’t make any snide remarks.
He set a dish of
vanilla ice cream in front of me. Then
he put a pan of cherries in a sauce on a bracket and squirted something on
it. It looked delicious. I couldn’t wait to try it. But then, to my surprise and horror, he lit a
long match and set my desert on fire. I
was so shocked that I instinctively picked up my glass and tossed the water
onto the flames.
The waiter was
shocked, as well. He probably didn’t
expect someone to act so decisively to avert a disaster. He said, “But, Sir….”
I cut him off,
again. “’But, Sir,’ my ass. You did that on purpose because I told on you
about the cold soup. Well, I’m not going
to sit here let you make a fool out of me, again.” I got up and stormed out of the
restaurant. And not a single person
dared get in my way.
I was halfway back
to my trailer when I began to calm down.
Thinking about it rationally, I had to admit that it hadn’t been too
bad. I got two great cups of coffee and
a lot of bread and a salad. And, best of
all, I got a spiffy, new jacket. All
gratis. That means for free.
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