Bouzouki And A Bet
Dinner at Theo's tonight, I had no starters, the kalamari as a main (which was okay), and the sokokaridopitta
for dessert (which was rich and utterly yum). The other two had the mudia krasata and soublaki, and shared the baklavas for dessert.
There was live Greek folk music, courtesy of the live bouzouki ensemble; and a generous free shot of ouzo, courtesy of Theo.
I liked both, but especially the ouzo, which Wikipedia describes as a "Greek anise-flavored liqueur ... similar to absinthe, but without the wormwood." I didn't know it was supposed to be drunk with ice or water, so I had it straight up. The ouzo burnt smoothly down my throat and into my tummy in the comforting and familiar way my beloved Scotch whisky does. Sucking dry my shot, I felt a faint, wrapped-in-lamb's-wool kick to my head. Good thing I'd demolished my main by then.
There are a couple of things about being a (near) teetotaler for nearly six years now: one, your body forgets how it used to deal with the copious amount of alcohol you carefreely downed; and two, the taste for liquors and liqueurs storms back with a vengeance. The first, I think, is not necessarily a bad thing, and the second definitely not a good thing.
After we had settled the bill and were about to leave, we passed our waiter (an Asian Chinese guy) and (presumably) Theo at the entrance of his tavern. Presumably-Theo asked where we were from.
"Singapore," I said; Aileen indicated herself and her friend, "Malaysia."
Presumably-Theo beamed. "You won me dinner!" he told us happily, and started chortling. "I won the bet; you won me dinner!"
Bloody hell. And this isn't like the first time either. This nearly always happens when either you're the only Asian Chinese patrons at a restaurant, or when the restaurant is owned by somebody to whom your accent and noisy chatter sound like home.
Why do people like doing this - guessing and betting on the country/countries of origin of their patrons? Is it really that boring to work in the F&B industry? And when whoever has won the bet, have they ever said, "The next time you come, the meal's on me"?
Have they hell.
Presumably-Theo didn't offer us a free takeaway dish or even another complimentary shot of ouzo.
The next time I get asked where I hail from by F&B personnel, I'm going to go for: "China - isn't it obvious?"
Buddy, if you think you can bet and win on me without my consent or cutting me a share of the winnings, you can just kiss my ass.
for dessert (which was rich and utterly yum). The other two had the mudia krasata and soublaki, and shared the baklavas for dessert.
There was live Greek folk music, courtesy of the live bouzouki ensemble; and a generous free shot of ouzo, courtesy of Theo.
I liked both, but especially the ouzo, which Wikipedia describes as a "Greek anise-flavored liqueur ... similar to absinthe, but without the wormwood." I didn't know it was supposed to be drunk with ice or water, so I had it straight up. The ouzo burnt smoothly down my throat and into my tummy in the comforting and familiar way my beloved Scotch whisky does. Sucking dry my shot, I felt a faint, wrapped-in-lamb's-wool kick to my head. Good thing I'd demolished my main by then.
There are a couple of things about being a (near) teetotaler for nearly six years now: one, your body forgets how it used to deal with the copious amount of alcohol you carefreely downed; and two, the taste for liquors and liqueurs storms back with a vengeance. The first, I think, is not necessarily a bad thing, and the second definitely not a good thing.
After we had settled the bill and were about to leave, we passed our waiter (an Asian Chinese guy) and (presumably) Theo at the entrance of his tavern. Presumably-Theo asked where we were from.
"Singapore," I said; Aileen indicated herself and her friend, "Malaysia."
Presumably-Theo beamed. "You won me dinner!" he told us happily, and started chortling. "I won the bet; you won me dinner!"
Bloody hell. And this isn't like the first time either. This nearly always happens when either you're the only Asian Chinese patrons at a restaurant, or when the restaurant is owned by somebody to whom your accent and noisy chatter sound like home.
Why do people like doing this - guessing and betting on the country/countries of origin of their patrons? Is it really that boring to work in the F&B industry? And when whoever has won the bet, have they ever said, "The next time you come, the meal's on me"?
Have they hell.
Presumably-Theo didn't offer us a free takeaway dish or even another complimentary shot of ouzo.
The next time I get asked where I hail from by F&B personnel, I'm going to go for: "China - isn't it obvious?"
Buddy, if you think you can bet and win on me without my consent or cutting me a share of the winnings, you can just kiss my ass.
posted by s at 22:45
1 Comments:
tell them you're from [insert type of cuisine here]. in this case, greece! and watch them wipe the shock off their faces.
i've linked you. just thought i'd inform you. it's only polite, as you know.
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