Village Dining (a 3 part story) The last one folks...

It has taken me ages to write the last part of the saga that was our Valentines dinner in the village.  Partly because it contains odd bits of conversation that might not make sense to the random reader and partly because I have been too busy downloading apps on my iphone and doing taxes.  I have realized, however, that if I don't get it out I might never write another blog again.  So here goes, the remainder of our evening.

If you recall, during our dinner we:

1. Did NOT get eaten by zombies.
2. Did feel strangely uncomfortable by the fact that we were the only people there for the better part of 30 minutes.
3. Thought the olive plate was our 'starter sampler for two'
4. Found out we were wrong

Dinner was finally served after the montrosorous (it's a word ask any of us) appetizer and while we were eating our entrees, Matt and I embarked upon the type of conversation that we normally have when in public, social situations - random and bizarre.

It began when I picked up my silverware to cut into the sausage stuffed chicken I had ordered.  As you do, I picked up my utensils, cut the meat, set the knife down, switched my fork to my other hand and took a bite.  After the third run through of this, Matt commented that he had only ever seen American's eat that way - except for a guy he once knew.  The guy, he explained was teased for eating this way, until he bragged that he lived in the States for awhile (apparently that made it okay).

Brits keep their knife and fork at hand, using the knife as a kind of pushing vessel to ram food onto the fork.  I have actually found myself eating this way more often than not over the years and Matt wondered why the change.   I said that I really enjoyed being able to wield a knife around while dining (very liberating).  I have found that gesticulating with a knife in your hand will ensure your table mates are listening to your story - every time.  It is also particularly useful when sitting at a large table and you need to point to an item out of reach.

"Why wouldn't you just ask for the item?"
"Most likely my mouth would be crammed full of food - pointing with a knife is the less rude option."
"That's true."
"You're agreeing with me that it is the less rude option?"
"No that your mouth would be full of food."

The utensil story segued into a conversation about making vile things sound edible at fine dining establishments.  The item in question that evening was black pudding. There was a delicious menu item that I had almost chosen but it was accompanied by the stuff.  Black pudding (in my opinion) is nasty. It is a coagulated blood sausage-type thing - don't ask me what actually goes into it - I don't care to know.  We decided that the French were masters at disguising the nasties and came up with an apt name - Pud Noir. Doesn't sound so bad does it?  We were just about to recommend a menu change to the waiter in between fits of giggles when I looked at the time - it was about 8:30 and we told our neighbor we would be back by 9 at the latest.

By now the restaurant was busy and we had a hard time getting our waiters attention (Matt dared me to snap my fingers and make a writing gesture on my hand to signify we wanted to get the check, but I didn't fall for that one again).  The waiter finally arrived and asked us to make a dessert selection - when we politely asked if we could have it to go I thought he was going to choke on his tongue.  Was everything not okay, did we hate it and the restaurant, were we on to the whole zombie conspiracy?  We explained that everything was lovely, but we had to get home.  He agreed to box up some Bailey's Cheesecake and dropped off the bill.

As Matt was signing the bill I asked him why he didn't sign the credit card slip in cursive writing.  I kid you not folks - he looked at me point blank with this innocent expression and said:

"What, like with swear words?  Is that like explative writing?"
"No - you know cursive writing - loopy"
"I don't know what you mean and I am not loopy"
"You know you call it..." (I was struggling to find the right words) "conjoined writing"
"What like twins?"
"Huh?"
"Do you mean joined up writing?"
"I guess so - joined up sounds like a 5 year old coined the term though"
"What do you think the French would call it?"
"I am not sure, but they could probably make it sound good"

On that note - we left with our boxed up cheesecake in hand (with the entire restaurant watching us leave) and headed home after our first dinner in the village.

Village Dining (a 3 part story) Part Deux

At the end of Part 1 - Matt and I had just been seated in a cozy, quaint and very empty restaurant in our village on Valentines Day.  Being the only people there, we were a bit nervous about the diner to staff ratio going on and briefly thought the whole thing was a scam.

After we were sat, our waiter (and also one of the owners as we later found out), explained how the evening was going to proceed.  The Valentines menu was a 4 course dinner including:

A set starter platter for two

A choice of entrees

A choice of desserts

Coffee, chocolates and mints

We were encouraged to peruse the menu for our entree and told again that the platter for two had no choice - it came as is.  He took our drink order and walked away.  He came back about 2 minutes later with our drinks and asked us if we had any questions, were we ready to order, etc?  The entrees sounded spectacular and we did not want to hurry our choice (plus I was debating on the best option/combo so that I could get Matt to 'share').  We were again reminded to "take our time, table's ours for the evening."  A few more minutes rolled by and he came out holding what amounted to a large side plate on which sat:

A small bowl with 6 olives

2 celery pieces about the size of a thumb filled with something

2 small filo dough parcels filled with something else

Still not ready to order, we sent him away.  The ensuing conversation went something like this:

Matt:  'do you know what you want?'
Me: 'I thought I did, but now I'm not sure.'
Matt: 'Why?'
Me: 'If this is the size our our sampler starter for two, then I might go with a larger entree.'
Matt: 'Hmm?  What?  Do you think this is the starter platter?'
Me:  'Well, I suppose it could be an amuse bouche, but we are in Bardney - my money is on the platter'
Matt: 'They can't seriously charge that kind of money and expect to pass this as a platter'
Me:  'To quote the great Eddie Izzard - it is Britain - scale it down'
Matt:  'That is a bit beyond scaling it down - that would be taking the piss.'

The waiter arrived again to take our order (on which we had finally decided) and started to remove our half eaten "platter".   I almost grabbed his arm to force the plate back on to the table whilst screeching 'leave it!'  There were 2 olives left in the bowl and was going to be damned if he was going to take them away.  In my defense, I must mention that I was STARVING and had half a gin and tonic fueling the situation.  He relinquished the plate and walked away.  I decided that I was going to make those 2 olives last until our dinner came.  I made it a challenge - took teeny, tiny bites.  Every couple of minutes or so our waiter walked by to see if the plate was empty so he could remove it.  It became almost unbearable and I started to wonder if we weren't going to get served until the last olive was gone.  No sooner had I popped it into my mouth in a frenzy, than the waiter came around the corner holding what looked like a banquet serving tray.

Now - I failed to mention that at this time the restaurant had slowly started filling up.  When I saw the tray I assumed that it was for the large table of the owner's friends/family that had arrived.

Me:  'Obviously pays to know someone.'
Matt: 'I think that it is ours.'
Me 'Holy shit, I think you're right - obviously it pays to be cute'

At this point the waiter is trying to wedge this tray full of food onto our petit table for two.  I can't remember everything on it but here goes:

Langustinos

Chilled Meditaranian Vegetables

Deviled Eggs

Fig and Passionfruit Salad

Smoked Herring

Cold Salmon

Canapes

At this point I was wishing I had gone with my first entree choice of salmon instead of upgrading to a hefty sounding portion of chicken stuffed with sausage.  Matt and I sat staring in amazement at the amount of food.

Me: 'This is ridiculous'
Matt: 'Who eats this much'
Me: 'Do you think they heard me complain about the olive plate'
Matt: 'Maybe - you are easily heard'
Me: 'Why would anyone eat this much before dinner'
Matt: 'I'm not eating anything with eyes - you can have the langustinos'
Me:  'I don't have to shared the eyed creatures?!?!?  This is the best Valentines Day ever!'

That concludes part 2 (of our 3-part story).  In my final segment I will regale you with fascinating conversations about cursive writing and cutlery use and conclude my tale with how things went when we asked to take our dessert 'to go'.

I would  also like to leave you tonight with a question:  Have you ever  been to a restaurant where you have been either overwhelmed or underwhelmed by the quantity of food (or confusingly both at the same time like I was on V-Day)?