Fancy Smancy

Friday was my sister’s birthday. I went out to eat with her and my mother at a “fancy” restaurant downtown. The wait staff all wore black pants, black shirts, and long black aprons. I’ve been to several “fancy” restaurants where the wait staff wore the same thing. It must be the “fancy” restaurant uniform.

Our waiter was a thin, pale man. He made a point to look at each one of us for a few seconds as he told us about the specials. He used carefully planned hand gestures as he talked. When he left the table my mother said that he reminded her of a museum guide. I wondered if he slept huddled in the corner of the kitchen by day, surviving off of table scraps.

Most of the fish on the menu was encrusted with something, like Macadamia nuts or Parmesan cheese. I don’t know when this trend started, but I don’t like it. I don’t want to eat anything that’s been encrusted. I think that it is supposed to remind you of something being jewel encrusted, and thus make you feel fancy. The problem is that the only thing it reminds me of is an old pair of underwear that someone’s worn for three days straight.

The more expensive the food is at fancy restaurants, the less food you get. I would think that because I paid more, I’d get more. Apparently, part of what you’re paying for is the atmosphere. This placed greeted me with the atmosphere of dirt smudged glass on the door and cobwebs under the windows. The metal art on the walls was…interesting.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. My food was delicious. I wiped my plate clean. My sister ordered that same thing as me but she only ate half. She’s on a diet where she eats portions fit for a small bird. I often say I’ll start that diet, but forget when my food arrives.

We got truffled chocolates at the end of our meal. They were good. My sister didn’t eat hers. I think it was a good birthday for her. Don’t worry we didn’t spend too much money–my mother had a coupon, of course.