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.
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