Talk with the Preacher
So, last night I went out to dinner with three friends. We went to Tiffin, this totally amazing Indian restaurant in Langley Park where you might die from joy if you eat the bathura. Seriously.
After much discussion we decided we would order three dishes and share them, along with some samosas, some naan, and some bathura (of course). The waiter came to our table—a very nice young Indian man—and asked to take our order. Because I am really bossy and I talk the most in that crowd, I began our order.
Me: “I think we’ll have the Chicken Tikka Masala, the Chicken Vindaloo, and the Palak Paneer.”
Him: “Good, good. The Vindaloo is very spicy. It’s okay with you?”
(table confers)
Me: “Sure, fine.”
Me: “So, then we’ll have the garlic naan and the bathura, please.”
Him: “Do you want that before your meal or with your meal?”
(table confers)
Me: “Um, before please.”
Him: “No.”
Me: “????”
Him: “You must not have it before. I must be with the meal.”
(table confers)
Me: “Um, okay . . . .”
Him: “What else please?”
Me: “Samosas?”
Him: “There are two in an order.”
(table confers)
Me (tentatively): “Two orders?”
Him (nodding): “Very good.”
Dinner comes. The bread comes with the meal, as apparently it should. We eat until we are stuffed beyond belief. The waiter returns to the table.
Him: “Dessert or coffee?”
(table confers)
Me: “No, I think we are all too full. It was great.”
(waiter shakes his in disappointment, as if to say, “shameful, shameful”)
We all leave, feeling like we just failed a really important test. Life is so funny sometimes!
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