Dinner at Antonio’s

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It was only 8pm but Antonio’s was already filling up fast. Seven of eight tables were full, and the seventh party had only just sat down. The two couples made themselves comfortable at the oak table, the men on one side and the women on the other. The two men were dressed almost identically in shiny leather shoes, black trousers and brightly colored shirts. The women wore glamorous, designer dresses that came down to their knees.

“What are we all having then?” one of the ladies said.

“I think I’m going to have the sirloin.” A man replied.

The waiter entered through the door and went directly to the table.

“Can I take your order, ladies and gentleman?”

“Yes.” replied Linda in her shrill screechy voice. “I want the Crem mars de poir, please.”

“Certainly.” the waiter said, leaning over her shoulders to retrieve her menu. “And might I suggest a nice Sauvignon Blanc with that?”

“Ah yes.” said the woman. She looked up with interest and scrutinized the waiter. “And what year is that?”

“It’s a 1979 French-harvested red.”

The woman nodded triumphantly. “That’ll do then.”

“And I will have the Mars le Grand.” said her husband sitting opposite her.

“And can I get you something to drink perhaps, sir?” asked the waiter courteously.

The man raised his fingers to his chin thoughtfully, “Bring me something red- bodied and rich. I should like to try the Maraine Sank.”

“Certainly, sir.”

The waiter rushed away to the bar and came back with a red bottle. He held it up to the table, displaying it like a trophy to adoring fans, then twisted the cork and delicately poured the gentleman a taster.

The man lifted up the glass to eye level and surveyed it with a frown. He held it close to his nose and sniffed it as if sniffing a fart. Then finally, with his thumb and forefinger, he tipped it to his mouth and sipped it gingerly. His lips twitched as he swirled it around his mouth, his eyes moving in accordance with the liquid as it washed around his palate. He pondered diligently.

He ran his tongue around his lips and swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “That one should do nicely.”

 

“She wants mint sauce.”

The chef stopped chopping at the board and turned to the waiter who was standing at the door. “What! Fucking mint sauce? Not on the menu.”

“She says she doesn’t like anything else and wants mint sauce. Won’t eat it without it.”

“Well, I don’t have any here. Someone will have to run out and get some from Sainsbury’s.” The chef turned to the kitchen porter who stood at the sink furiously working his way through a stack of dishes.

“Mark?”

“Fuck off.”

The chef turned back to the waiter, raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Ah well, up to you mate. Tell her to stick it up her arse or run down there yourself.”

“Bastards.” said the waiter. He spun around and went back through the door to the restaurant.

The chef shook his head as he returned to the chopping board. “Fucks sake,” he muttered to himself. “A billion people starving and she won’t eat her tea without her mint sauce.”

 

“You don’t have mint sauce?! Eric, did you hear that? They don’t have mint sauce!”

Eric looked across the table at his wife and grinned accordingly. He looked into the eyes of the waiter. “No tartar sauce for my linguisine either. What kind of establishment is this?”

A high-pitched chuckle went round the table. “It’s an outrage!” cried the other man. He slapped his thighs and bellowed like a maniac, then picked up his glass and took another gulp.

The waiter stood patiently with his hands behind his back. His face was motionless. He didn’t attempt to smile.

“Ach, you’re no fun.” coaxed the woman sardonically. She threw her long, straightened hair back then leaned across the table and said brazenly, “Just get me whatever you do have then. Surprise me.”

The waiter turned for the kitchen. He was almost at the door when he heard it.

“Hurry up! You idiot!”

The room rung out with the laughter. The words attacked his ears and drilled into his brain. The waiter’s face turned crimson. His eyes narrowed. He bit his lip and his face contorted as he violently pushed open the door.

Two minutes later and he returned from the kitchen steaming into the dining room, clutching a piece of white paper in his hand. The polite, improvised servility had gone, and he walked with gallant strides and a fierce determination- making straight for the table. He reached it and slammed down the paper. He addressed the lady, “Here you go. How does this suit ya?”

The table fell silent. So did all the other tables as all eyes in the room fixed on the waiter and the lady. The lady held up the paper to her face.

 

 

 

                                                           Starter

 

                          Soft lemon TARTlet drizzled with lashings of melted cheese from Scotland’s FATTEST COWS.

 

                                                       Main

 

                                             Recommended to Madam- nice and simple JUMBO SAUSAUGE.

 

                                                           Dessert

 

    Roasted chocolaty rabbit droppings on a succulent bed of green leaves collected from only the most sewage-filled parts of the                                                                                        river Thames.

 

 

 

The lady’s jaw dropped open. She put her hand to her mouth. Her skin went ghostly white.

The waiter raised his voice and looked around the table, meeting each customer square in the eye. “Now the rest of you snobby bastards can just fuck off. Bunch of twats.”

 

The lady’s husband snatched the menu of his wife and read it. “HOW DARE YOU!” he boomed. His face was furiously twisted. “I am going straight to your boss! Where is he?!”

“I don’t care. I’m out. Go and tell him.”

The waiter leaned over the table. “Cheers.” he said, and he grabbed the untouched steak and chips dinner plate, and walked out into the cold with the array of startled eyes glaring at his back.

 

Johnny, the former waiter, took a handful of the chips and rammed them triumphantly into his mouth. His feet crunched in the powdery snow as he walked. The snow fell slowly, and the world was alive with opportunity. He swallowed and a wide grin stretched across his face. Suddenly he caught sight of something with the corner of his eye. He veered off in its direction.

“Hey, mate. You hungry?”

The homeless old man raised his eyes from the ground. At the sight before him, his face brightened into an animated frenzy of excitement.

“Yeah, really hungry.”

“Here you go, man.” Johnny handed him the full, still-warm plate. “What’s your name?”

The old man’s eyes danced as he took the plate. “It’s Mathew.” he said.

“Well Mathew. Enjoy. It’s a nice night for it.”

And with that he turned on his heels and sauntered down the street.

Mathew’s eyes followed him. He sat with his red cheeks and his red nose and looked lovingly at the plate. A wide smile broke out across the homeless man’s face.