There’s a little Italian restaurant I like to drop in on that makes a fantastic salmon pasta; its one of my favorites. I went there today for lunch – I probably go about once a week, so they kind of know me. But every time I saw “I don’t want Parmesan Cheese” because it’s too rich for me, and every time, I mean EVERY TIME, they bring me a steaming plate with Parmesan cheese on top. And I’m not a picky person but I really can’t eat the stuff because it makes me uncomfortable, and I was very clear on how to prepare it, so I always send it back and they make me a new one.
It’s no big deal – its their loss, their mistake, I just have to wait longer. I feel a little sorry for them though, as they bring it out, and then I have to explain to them why I won’t eat it, and they take it back. It’s a little ritual. I’ve wondered if there isn’t someone back there who likes the same dish and does it on purpose. And my Italian is pretty good, not perfect, but good, so I don’t think it’s a language problem (although why the whole world didn’t just stick with Latin, I’ll never know. My Latin is superb). Da fidei quae fidei sunt.
Today though I was thinking about telling them off. Politely of course; just that I’m a valued customer and repeat business and they should be a little more careful. In 1432 There was an amazing little restaurant in Naples, and one day I got food poisoning from the shrimp and so I shut them down; I mean I burned that shack to the ground (in my defense, I was really sick). I’m not about to make a mistake like that again – over 600 years later and I haven’t found food so good.
Anyway, as I’m writing it’s clouding up a little, I think I’ll make it rain and take a nap.