Cultural lessons & the kindness of strangers continue. I’m at the Flying Horse to order breakfast. The menu is on the table. I’m waiting for service and ask a server as she whisks past. Oh. Must go to the bar to order. Nice lady at the table next to me said I need my table number. I am at table 98. Or is that 86? Another lady verifies 98. When I order, the first thing I’m asked is my table number? How could I have known? The nice lady saved coming back, getting table number, yada yada. My question. What if someone else claims that table number while you stand in line? Hmmm…
From this point forward, English!
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| Baby Bella mushrooms, with arugula, not drowned in hollandaise sauce |