WebJournal - The blog will set you free

WebJournal - The blog will set you free
News of no interest whatsoever except to very close and patient friends and family members and maybe people with no life

Thursday, October 30, 2003

I've been nursing a sore throat all day. I stayed home from work and only ventured out for half-and-hour for a manicure and a back rub in the afternoon. I should be doing better tomorrow. Should I not, at least I'll sport well groomed nails.

Yesterday after work M.A. and Pilar came over and we had dinner at a very pretentious Italian place in the neighbourhood. The food was OK and the coffee was excellent. Other than that it was hilarious.
The patrons were your run-of-the-mill Italian and American upper-middle-class. Not the very rich, more like the people who cater to the very rich. Lots of sharp dark suits and a few blonde babes. We walked in into a swarm of waiters. I must say that for a ritzy place I was not very impressed with the service. I've been taught that good service is when things get done without you actually seeing who is doing them. Good service is onubstrusive but these people were all over the place. The head waiter or whatever the little guy was came over to our table to recite a 20+ list of specials. Too bad he had the thickest Italian accent ever. Barely comprehensible. He did mention some ingredient that came at $2000 a half-a-pound but that was the only occasion he alluded to any price at all. We were supposed to make our choice from this endless catalog without any idea of the prices and only the faintest notion of the actual food involved. I know, I know, if you have to ask you can't afford it. We asked for a menu anyways. The whole menu was much shorter than the specials and not particularly arresting.
At some point during dinner the same little guy asked me if I was Italian and I answered with a curt "Yes" without even glancing at him. I can be as snobbish as I need to be.
The wine list started at 150 bucks. There was one wine for $38 crossed out, then maybe 3 or 5 bottles at 40 something to 50 something and then it would jump to 150 and go up and up.
The food was OK. Pilar's choice was particularly good but she kept putting her fork down and the waiters kept thinking she had finished and trying to get the dish away from her in a comic tug of war.
The restroom was a letdown. Not particularly clean, not particularly fancy.
A little while into our dinner Nicolas arrived, looking, in his own words, "like white trash" in a plaid shirt over a t-shirt. He even had a baseball cap, but he did take it off indoors.
M.A. wanted to taste Pilar's dish and she handed him the whole plate. I could physically feel the disapproving stare of the waiters. I never understood that holier than thou attitude from, for lack of a better word, servants.
I clearly remember one instance in Geneva, Switzerland, where I went to a Gucci store to buy several pairs of a certain shoe model on behalf of a very big shot. The girl at the store gave me one of those condescending looks and proceeded to tell me how much they costed eventhough I hadn't asked. It was with utmost pleasure that I interrupted her and informed her that money was inconsequential and that all I wanted to know was if she carried that model and whether she had 4 or 6 pairs or whatever it was I was supposed to buy. She did not and it was my turn to look at her with contempt. Moments like that are great for channeling whatever pent up stress one might be carrying around. It's either that or a good jog.

Tonight I spent quite a while talking to Janis (a dietician friend) on the phone and plotting a weight-loss strategy. The idea is if it ain't working, change it. And change it. And change it. Until it works.

12:22 AM

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