A New Yorker's Stories by Philip Gould

Author:Philip Gould
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boson Books
Published: 2011-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

DINNER WITH JAKE

I had all but given up on Jake; by a quarter past the hour there was no telephone call and I could only think the worst. I began to prepare my own supper. I can always throw together things I have at home for an improvised meal. But the phone did ring and Jake said he was on his way. So I put the food I had laid out back in the refrigerator, put on my shoes, tied the laces, and waited for the downstairs buzzer to sound.

We had no particular place to go to for dinner. The stretch along Broadway between 116th Street and 108th Street has at least twenty eateries of every possible ethnic or regional taste you can think of. We decided to try one place, out of default to be frank because we could not come up with a choice that really outweighed the others. So, we entered the diner that had a certain allure with its low lights and little table candles flickering against the dark. We were given the three-page menu, not too easily read for lack of illumination. Finally, Jake decided on the hamburger special and I ordered the quiche and salad dish. Even though it was late and we were both famished we ordered rather meager dishes because it was hard to find something on the menu that sounded substantial and yet not too expensive. We settled on what you might call the lesser of the evils. But that did not solve our problems. I had a certain anticipation of the quiche I ordered. The quiche on my plate, when it arrived, was almost lost in the green salad that overwhelmed the offering. I eventually found the quiche under the greenery and dislodged a morsel with my fork but the taste did not resonate with my expectations. I tried a second bite and was still uncertain. Then it occurred to me that my quiche was not the quiche I had ordered. The menu called for a mushroom and cheese dish; what I got was a spinach and egg dish. After I made this discovery I called the waiter over to point out the discrepancy. The waiter quite openly declared that there were no more mushroom and cheese quiche and the cook made the substitution, hoping, I suppose, that I would not detect the difference. It was a case of pure deception. I asked to see the manager and I did, in no uncertain terms, voice my discontent and disappointment with such an unannounced switch. We left the restaurant with Jake’s half-eaten hamburger still on his plate and my quiche still buried under a pile of green salad.

We were back on the street, looking anew for a place to have supper. We made our way down Broadway, past any number of restaurants until 108th Street where we sidled into a Thai place that I almost always find agreeable. The room is small and intimate and yet never very crowded. There is no din of chattering voices so conversation is possible in a normal manner.

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