The last time I had this much mystery in my life, I was working my way through the alphabet with Sue Grafton's mystery novels. Who knew blogging could be this much cloak and dagger.
Who is that handsome stranger behind the menu?
Of course, I was the one orchestrating the mystery, which eliminated most of the suspense for me, but what the experience lacked in suspense it more than make up for with a few twists and turns even I didn't see coming.
All I saw was a favorite restaurant from years gone by, a Sunday brunch option I'd frequented with my family when my kids only numbered two and I was with husband number one. What could go wrong with a culinary stroll down memory lane with husband number two and no kids? Never mind we never really can go home again.
Our stroll didn’t start well. Jimmy and I were seated across from the breakfast buffet, a high traffic area in my book (including the little red book in which I take copious notes whenever it’s my intention to blog about my experience, destination or dining).
Our stroll didn’t start well. Jimmy and I were seated across from the breakfast buffet, a high traffic area in my book (including the little red book in which I take copious notes whenever it’s my intention to blog about my experience, destination or dining).
I took this picture right from my seat, three feet away.
Perhaps it was our server Tanya’s hope we wouldn’t order from the menu, which would otherwise increase her workload with more trips to and from the kitchen; with only three patrons in the restaurant and just as many servers, maybe she was enjoying the lull after the early morning rush. Jimmy and I arrived just after 9:30 a.m.
I tossed aside all the speculation and accepted the karma that had come my way, including opting for the breakfast buffet. The buffet was so close, after all; why not!
Well, I could give you a dozen reasons why not, after the fact, but at the time it seemed a good option. Suffice it to say, when salt is the only seasoning used by the chef, you know you're in trouble.
I tossed aside all the speculation and accepted the karma that had come my way, including opting for the breakfast buffet. The buffet was so close, after all; why not!
Well, I could give you a dozen reasons why not, after the fact, but at the time it seemed a good option. Suffice it to say, when salt is the only seasoning used by the chef, you know you're in trouble.
Just remember, looks can be deceiving.
The real trouble started when I switched to blog mode and started taking pictures of the buffet.
This was to be my first buffet blog (sorry, this is your only choice of posts today despite all the talk of buffets). I was in my element, oblivious of anything other than the world of food in my viewfinder. Word of my peculiar behavior (yes, in hindsight I admit some might find my behavior a little odd in a restaurant; my family and friends have adjusted quite well to my paparazzi tendencies) spread among the staff like pancake batter on a hot skillet.
Tanya hovered more than usual; the manager appeared, scrutinized the buffet as well as Jimmy and me, and then promptly disappeared (although he was there again to ring us up when we left). Minutes later, kitchen staff arrived with fresh scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and hot cakes despite an ample supply of food at the buffet.
With my appetite gone after several bites of the high sodium eggs, burnt bacon and cold grits, my attention was diverted. I began to see my part in the drama I'd unwittingly created. Jimmy and I had walked into the restaurant a harmless, middle-aged couple as predictable as we were indistinguishable. In the blink of an eye (or perhaps more accurately, the click of a shutter) we’d morphed into any number of mysterious possibilities (okay, me, not we): nut case, corporate spy, health department, food critic, lowly blogger).
I discovered I rather liked morphing into somebody 'special' in this theater in the round. My role certainly guaranteed good service. Good food was another matter altogether.
Jimmy and I closed the show with a quiet departure. No way I was stepping out of character now. Besides, everybody loves a good mystery. They'll be talking about my performance for a month of Sundays. Some days a good mystery is all that separates the memorable from the mundane, the grand from the bland, notoriety from anonymity.
The way I see it, Jimmy and I left them with something tasty to chew on, which was more than I could say for our experience.
Tanya hovered more than usual; the manager appeared, scrutinized the buffet as well as Jimmy and me, and then promptly disappeared (although he was there again to ring us up when we left). Minutes later, kitchen staff arrived with fresh scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and hot cakes despite an ample supply of food at the buffet.
With my appetite gone after several bites of the high sodium eggs, burnt bacon and cold grits, my attention was diverted. I began to see my part in the drama I'd unwittingly created. Jimmy and I had walked into the restaurant a harmless, middle-aged couple as predictable as we were indistinguishable. In the blink of an eye (or perhaps more accurately, the click of a shutter) we’d morphed into any number of mysterious possibilities (okay, me, not we): nut case, corporate spy, health department, food critic, lowly blogger).
I discovered I rather liked morphing into somebody 'special' in this theater in the round. My role certainly guaranteed good service. Good food was another matter altogether.
Jimmy and I closed the show with a quiet departure. No way I was stepping out of character now. Besides, everybody loves a good mystery. They'll be talking about my performance for a month of Sundays. Some days a good mystery is all that separates the memorable from the mundane, the grand from the bland, notoriety from anonymity.
The way I see it, Jimmy and I left them with something tasty to chew on, which was more than I could say for our experience.
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