Mike and I settled in a booth and placed our orders. He opted for the lasagna, and I chose a large antipasto with the famous blue cheese dressing. We elected to drink water. The restaurant offered only coffee, tea, and soft drinks, as it didn’t have a beverage license. On the other hand, if you were discreet, you could bring a brown bag containing a bottle of beer or wine, and nobody objected. It was that kind of place.
On the way back to the house, I said, “That certainly filled me up.”
“You’ve got that right. I don’t know how the guy manages to keep his prices so modest.”
“I don’t know, either, but I intend to enjoy it while it lasts.”
“What do you mean?” Mike said.
“Simply this. When Gus decides to retire and somebody else takes over the kitchen, it won’t be the same.”
“Sure it will.”
“Wrong,” I said. “You know we’ve been in there a couple of times when he had a day off, and his brother was in the kitchen. We’ve both noticed a slight difference in the food.”