You know how when you go out to a restaurant, the server brings you a warm dish, puts it down in front of you, and says:
"Careful now -- that's hot"?
Let me ask you something. What's the first thing a kid does when you tell them not to touch something?
Yeah.
Also, I don't know what my server means by hot. Frankly, most people are wimps. So I touch it, just to find out how hot.
Typically not very. I like hot. Hot soups, hot drinks. Really hot. Most lattes are lukewarm by my standards. When I'm ordering from a Barista, I say, "make it dangerously hot. Put me at risk." Gets my point across.
So imagine my delight when, last week, a steaming, baked pesto-tomato-egg dish was put in front of me with no warning at all.
Just like that.
I grinned like a fool. I told the servers how delighted I was and thanked them profusely for treating me like an adult. I might have scared them a bit with my enthusiasm.
Oh, and the food was fabulous, too.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
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