Pity the Rich

For reasons that will not be entered into, Lung the Elder, CS, La Doctora and I went to a very shi-shi restaurant this weekend.

The description of the food had been ‘fusion tapas’ and really that should have been warning enough. All the waiting staff wore black and the kitchen staff were dressed as dentists and I couldn’t help thinking that the whole scene would have made a great set up for a massive martial arts fight.

When the headwaiter came over it immediately became evident that he had learned his trade in a Hitler Youth camp. I lived in Paris for two years so it’s not like I’m not used to obnoxious waiting staff, but this guy took the frigging biscuit. We decided not to follow his ordering recommendations so he got into a huff and chided us for not following the restaurant’s ‘concept’. Now I happen to know that pretension is the one thing that gets right up the noses of CS and La Doctora, so when this snotty little twentysomething used the ‘C’ word in that tone, I felt both ladies bristle and thought for a moment they were going to grab the designer knives off the table and do an Elektra all over his poker-occupied ass.

When the food finally came, it occupied the area about the size of a thumbnail was served on plates that resembled large ceramic trays.

LtY: ‘Jesus, this looks like an aerial photograph of a meal’
LtE: ‘Yeah. Ooooh look, I can see my food from here!’

And all during the meal, the Blackshirts kept trying to force more and more wine onto us. You know, it’s really hard to chew when you’re gritting your teeth and contemplating homicide. Most of the astronomical bill was kindly paid for by the visiting friend that actually recommended the venue and it took us five minutes to decide upon a tip that would be sufficiently insulting without being vulgar.

Now don’t get me wrong, the food was well prepared and everything we tried had a fascinating and unique taste. None the less, it certainly wasn’t dinner, it wasn’t even a meal, it was a ‘tasting’ session. Ah, but isn’t that just what tapas are about?

Let’s get something straight about tapas...........................

The word ‘tapa’ in Spanish means cover. Not so long ago, in most regions of Spain, if you ordered a glass of wine in a café, you were served a small plate of something tasty to go with it. This salty chaser served two purposes. Firstly it made you want to drink more and secondly you could put the small plate on top of your wineglass so that flies wouldn’t fall into it. That’s why it’s called a tapa, a cover. Let’s recap, the original tapas were FREE, were served on SMALL plates and doubled as INSECT REPELLANT.

So if that headwaiter is reading this now, I have two golden pieces of advice for you:

Remove poker.
Get life.