I headed home from work with such a determined mind that day, that I was going out for dinner. This happens often, but what else I had made my mind about was the fact I was not going to set foot in the kitchen that lovely Friday evening! Dinner plans were made, and we set out amidst certain excitement that comes with getting your child to stop cycling outside, and wearing something nice.
We arrived at the haute restaurant and waited for an hour outside clutching out tickets in our hands, waiting for our turn with the menus. We finally went in and sat, and when the waiter busied himself with notepad and pen to take down our orders, we gave him the first order of the evening. A special order – nothing on the menu.
A boiled egg we asked with as much nonchalance as we could muster. The sure footed waiter faltered, he stammered for a response, and said – “a-a b-boiled egg?” Yes, we beamed. I stepped in and comforted him with the assurance that I would be ordering something from the menu. “We love your food“, we told him before he broke out sobbing. I could see the pride in his restaurant shattered in his eyes.
You can take my daughter to the fanciest restaurant with the most fantastic menus, but of late, what satisfies her immensely is a boiled egg. We all ate our favourite dishes, and handed a special tip to our waiter who had gone through considerable difficulty obtaining the boiled egg from the seasoned chef.
Everytime I step into Coldstone Creamery, and order a small plain vanilla icecream, I go through a similar experience. Don’t blame them – check this out!