So, last night my husband, our son, and I were out for dinner at a chain restaurant. We all ordered rib-eye steaks, and they were quite good.
About mid-meal, our waiter, who seemed to have a bit of an odd personality, asked us, “Are your meals exceptional?” Now, he’s probably been instructed to say something like that as part of a customer service effort (kind of like being welcomed enthusiastically as soon as you walk into your bank – and don’t get me started on that). We all sort of looked at each other with confusion. How do you answer that question?
I’m used to a waiter asking if everything is okay or if there’s anything we need during a meal. But exceptional? Hmmm.
So on the way home, I asked my husband, “So, was your meal exceptional?” No, he responded; pretty good, but not exceptional.
“Have you ever had a meal to which you would have answered yes to that question,” I asked him. He thought a bit, and said, yes, he probably had, but he couldn’t think where. When I pressed him, he finally admitted that his most obvious “exceptional” meal was a sausage pizza at his favorite Chicago pizzaria.
I have definitely had meals, or parts of meals, that I would consider to be exceptional. I had the good luck to travel with an expense account before I retired, and I definitely had some exceptional meals at expensive restaurants in big cities throughout the nation. Most included fish. I prepare seafood and fish, but not particularly well, I don’t think. But when you have a good piece of fish prepared simply with a delicious sauce, it is often exceptional.
But if you held my feet to the fire and asked me to think of something exceptional that I have eaten in a restaurant, it would most certainly be a dessert that I ate in Paris. I know that sounds pretentious, but it is simply the truth.
It was our last night before we came home from our three-month European adventure. For three months I had been eating wonderful German, Italian and French food, but I was ready to come home and have some good ol’ American food. I can’t even remember what our meal was that night (though I vaguely recall some kind of veal and a very good salad).
We had rarely ordered dessert during our travels, preferring instead to get a gelato a bit later in the evening. But that night we threw all caution to the wind, and ordered a chocolate dessert (with a name I no longer recall).
Oh. My. Goodness.
The plate was covered with a custardy cream, and on top sat a warm piece of chocolate cake. When you cut into it with your fork, out came a soft drizzle of chocolate syrup, floating into the custard. It was, undoubtedly, the most delicious dessert I have ever had, either prior to or since that trip. It was truly exceptional.
But, being in Paris, the waiter obviously didn’t ask, “Is your dessert exceptional?” You must be kidding. In Paris? In France? On the contrary, he just knew it was.
