Icky!

THE CONNOISSEUR

 

Walter was more than annoyed. He was upset. I could feel the table move when he tapped his impatient foot on the terra cotta floor. What a glum face he made. The nerve in the corner of his right eye twitched. Our waiter was not as attentive as he should be. He had taken the order from the table next to us and we were seated first. The grapes for our wine had not been picked yet, or so Walter's mind worked. I proceeded to chide him. 'What is your problem this time? What is our hurry? Can't you relax for once?' 'Relax? Where is the bread basket? Butter?' I leaned across our table, tried to hold his hand, but he pulled it away. 'Complain one more time about the service, Walter, and I will be ready to leave. We are not our waiter's only customers !' Slam, bang, Walter's' fist hit the table. My still empty wine glass fell over.

 

A basket of soft french bread was laid on our table. Walter handed it to me and its warmth soothed me for a moment. 'Walter, don't flip out,' I said, ' but the rolls are wet. Am I right?' Without a word to me, he got up, walked to the cashier where I was sure he was going to ask to speak to the manager. Before he got back to our table, our waiter was uncorking our wine. Our bread had been removed and a new basket, covered with a spotless large white linen napkin, replaced it. I could not help but notice the couple next to us staring our way.

 

When my salmon was served, I saw at once that my 'poached' salmon was broiled. A small gasp, but not a word, escaped from my lips.
Silently I ate it along with the little red boiled potatoes and superb buttered asparagus. Walter was surely looking for something to complain about. His plate of sweet and sour meatballs was empty except for a few teaspoons of sauce. He clicked his fingers to our waiter who came at once. 'May I have a few more warm rolls for the gravy?' he asked. Oooh, the politeness on both sides was so overly condescending, I almost laughed. ' Certainly, Mr. Brogard.' Zoom he was gone and back with another basket of rolls. Dinner was turning out better than I thought it would. Walter offered me the basket first, then took one for himself, broke it in half and dropped it on the floor.
He showed me the half still in his hands. It had red spots on it. 'What do these look like to you? They aren't gravy, are they?' I looked and confirmed the red spots might be a lot of things but not gravy. We both got antsy. Walter looked up at the ceiling, saw nothing unusual, looked at the rolls again and decided not to eat any. Again he signaled our waiter. 'Please tell the manager I would like to see him a moment.'

 

We sat waiting for ten minutes. The uneaten rolls were cold but the red spots were clearly visible. I opened one and displayed it on my clean bread and butter plate. The manager looked at them carefully and assured us they were simply part of the red peppers used to make the sauce. Walter was again more than annoyed. With indignation puffing his cheeks out, he told the manager he was crazy. Words got louder and louder. All eyes and ears were on us. 'Those are blood drops, Mr. Know-it-all manager!' I am a doctor and know blood from sauce. Leave me my check and go find out who is bleeding in your kitchen!' 'You may be in for a big law suit. Don't you dare take these rolls away. Send a waiter to me with a clean white foam take-out box.' We got the box, an apology and no check.

 

Walter took the spoiled rolls to the laboratory and learned two days later that the blood was chicken blood, not human. That did not assuage us. Walter notified the manager that we were still considering a suit. I talked him out of it and simply crossed the restaurant off our dining out spots.