Happy Martini Day! Well, officially it is “Dry Martini Day”. When my sweet mother visited, my brother-in-law (BIL) and sister-in-law (SIL) invited us over for cocktails before we all went out to dinner. My BIL is a modern day Renaissance man. He is a gourmet cook, plays beautiful piano music, and shakes a martini with James Bond precision. My SIL is patient, thoughtful, and goes beyond the beyond when it comes to presenting things well. Together they are the perfect “pairing”—the hosts with the most.
When we arrived, my BIL was playing the piano. I have a treat for you…a sampling of the beautiful music we enjoyed!
Martinis were shaken, served, and enjoyed. I, of-course, enjoyed a little bottle of Coke.
Next we took a tour of the garden–Notice how pretty, my sweet, mom looks wearing the shirt I gave her for Mother’s day!
After our garden tour, we sauntered (it’s Martini Day and Saunter Day) out the door for a stroll over to a neighborhood Thai restaurant for dinner. The appetizers were very good, and more than enough to call dinner—well, at least for my sweet mom, SIL, and me; Cole and my BIL, however, needed “more” so they ordered a plate of Sizzling Duck.
My BIL does not order food casually: He evaluates his choices, politely listens to the list of specials, politely asks a lot of questions, and politely clarifies any potential areas of misunderstanding. He gives a good waiter an opportunity to shine, a mediocre waiter a chance to grow… while bad waiters usually switch tables after the drink order. Before placing the order for the duck plate, he asked if the duck was fried and was told it was “no fry-sizzle.” He then asked if the duck was served with vegetables, which he did not want, and was told “no veggie, you want rice?” It took a minute or two but eventually an agreement was reached, the order was placed, the contract was signed. More champaign was poured and the Sizzling Duck was waited for with anticipation.
When the duck plate arrived, it was clear something was lost in translation. The duck was fried, did not sizzle, and was smothered in vegetables. It looked like this….
My BIL’s face looked like this…
We all tried to renegotiate with the wait staff, but it was clear that when it came to returning or fixing the order nobody spoke English all that well. So we put the duck on a fresh plate and removed the offending soggy veggies. When a duck does not sizzle there is not much you can do about it, so we encouraged my BIL to say ‘what the quack’ and get over it—which he did—and then, along with Cole, ate the offending and offensive duck offering.
We had a toast to Better Duck next time!
Like most mishaps in life the “duck that did not sizzle” left us laughing as we sauntered out of the restaurant and made our way home after an otherwise lovely evening and dinner. I did, however, promise my BIL that I would share the story of the “duck that did not sizzle” with my Odd readers so you could offer him sympathy, support, and share your stories of restaurant meals that failed to meet your expectations and perhaps left you disappointed and even depressed and despondent.
Odd Loves Company!