HG restaurant error Number One: HG goes to a favorite Chinatown hole in the wall. HG is thinking about fried crabs in egg sauce and twice fried pork. At an adjacent table, some older Chinese men are eating something that looks interesting. “I want that,” says HG to waiter. “No, no, Mister,” exclaims waiter, “That is for Chinese people. You will not like it” HG will not be discouraged. Waiter fights the good fight. “You will not like it. You will not like it.” HG wins. The plate of food is placed before him. A cosmic error. The aroma is of dirty socks and animal droppings. In goes the HG fork (HG has never learned how to negotiate chopsticks. He is too greedy). HG chews. The textures: Tire scraps. Chewing gum. Rancid Jello. Mattress stuffing. The taste? Don’t ask. The waiter hovers. “See? You don’t like it..” HG’s dignity is at stake. He cannot lose face. He finishes the dish. Takes a few days to recover. Moral: Listen to Chinatown waiters. They know what’s not to like.
Restaurant lesson Number Two: HG has bad morning at Madison Avenue office. Needs comfort lunch. That means brains in black butter with boiled potatoes at Veau D’Or, the little French bistro around the corner. HG is delayed. Gets there late. Waiters are setting tables for dinner. HG rushes in; places his order.
Waiter says: “All right, M’sieu, but you must hurry. The lunch hour is over.” HG gets huffy, irate, snippy, furious. “Hurry? I am insulted and I am leaving.” On the way out he sees two old ladies finishing the last of their brains, mopping bits of butter from their alabaster maquillage. Damn. Those brains look good. HG settles for a drugstore BLT.
Moral: Calm and humility can lead to a good meal. The reward of huffiness is a BLT or worse..a tuna fish sandwich.