Chapter 7

Another couple was brought to our table and seated. Nobody said anything, this time. We all ordered and the food came. The man took one look at his food and went, “Umpf.” I assumed that was German for ugh. He was a massive man in a too small Columbia fishing shirt, a brand I was fond of, but may have to rethink. His head was boxy and his hair cut short like a Marine’s. Did Germany have Marines? His wife was birdlike and tiny. Her food was equally umpfapparently. She took one look, raised one eyebrow, and said, ‘These carrots have obviously been dehydrated and then undercooked. I loathe them this way, and what have they sprinkled on them this time to hide the taste, celery? Parsley? Cilantro? Eww. All the money we spend and we get this. Don’t you find,” she had turned to Mabel, who was on her right. “Don’t you find this rather disgusting?”