It was almost 9:00 PM as I made my way off the crowded express train. I steeled myself for the twenty-two flights of stairs to street level and thought; if I take the stairs slowly, pause at every level and actually make it above ground, I’ll treat myself to a relaxing drink, an appetizer and call it a night. Outside the subway, the pavement was damp but the Wednesday night’s rain had stopped. The night was clear and a martini was in my future.
Kumquat (not the real name) restaurant is one of the new breed of neighborhood eateries with real flatware and not one sheet of plexiglass between me and my food or server. I’ve got 6 Kumquat receipts offering a 10% discount on future
meals (weekends excluded) stuck on my refrigerator with this magnet:
It figures mid-week I’d be strolling into
the restaurant without my discount incentive receipt. No biggie. I’ll have a light
dinner, and be home in no time. The hostess seated me and I waited and waited. The
room was noticeably bereft of wait staff. Daylight savings had filched an hour
earlier in the week and here in Kumquat, the time was still evaporating. I did
the exaggerated craned neck and index finger at half- mast move and finally got
the attention of the hostess.
“Are there any waiters on duty?”
"Yes, she'll be right over."
"What's the soup of the day?"
"I'll go find out."
You’ll go find out? It’s
almost closing, and you don’t know the soup du jour??!!, I thought in bold font. In reality, I cleared my phone of fifteen emails and decided
to forfeit my drink by the time the hostess returned.
“Black bean
with kale, how does that sound?”
“Good”
“So that’s what
you’ll have?”
“Yes”
She moved to greet an incoming
couple. Thirty-three cleared emails later my waitress appeared.
I’m Kira,
would you like something to drink?
When I came in I did, but now?
“No thank you Kira. I’ll just have soup. The hostess may
have put in my order.”
“She mentioned the black bean with kale, I’ll put
that order in for you now.”
Now was the operative word meaning I was not as close to eating black bean with kale soup as I thought. So I picked
up my phone. Twelve cleared emails later my soup was on the table. It was indeed black bean and kale, but huge chunks of chicken were
competing for room in the big white bowl. I’m not complaining because a
mass of smoked succulent poultry lurked under every leaf of kale. If I were still a practicing pseudo-vegetarian (blindly following Gary Null as I had for 10 years) I’d have been outraged by the surfeit of fowl in what had
sounded like a description of a hearty vegan potage. I forged through the meaty gumbo with
gusto, as savory bits of chicken continued to glare triumphantly from the bowl. Sated and sensing a tryptophan like torpor approaching, I prepared to leave.
So what glaringly reminded me of my mother's frugal nature and caused the consternation in Kumquat?
To be continued...
