Sunday, March 9, 2008

Bratwurst and Sauerkraut

Martini Man
Martini Man
Credit: Tim Walton, ©2008, All Rights Reserved

Well, another birthday dinner under my belt. We had a good time at Old Europe, but I'm thinking we'll go somewhere else next year. The waiters were cute, but the service was very slow. It may have been the crowd, the main restaurant had a big crowd, and there were a bunch of Marines in dress uniform with their women in the party room. The slow service did not dim my party mood in the least; I was just getting very hungry.

Perry, Ron, and I drove downtown. We were discussing the Prius navigation system on the way. The system uses a call center in Bangalore. The car sends an invisible signal through the air to a geosynchronous satellite that communicates with the call center. We believe (though have not confirmed) that the car has a camera and a microphone inside the passenger compartment so that the young woman (with an irritating voice) who is directing us can see and hear us as we puzzle over the details of the route. We have some paranormal evidence that all of the employees in the call center compare notes on their respective passengers, generally ridiculing us for our faux fashion statements, and occasionally they misdirect us down one-way streets just for grins. The navigation system rocks! Really.

We found a nifty parking place and made it to the restaurant. Tim and Brian showed up forty minutes later. Brian claims responsibility for the tardiness, but I never heard the back story. Ron, Perry, and I put the time to good use by eating potato pancakes and herring salad.

Ron found something on the menu that he could eat. He was pleased about that. I forgot to ask him how it was. I had the bratwurst and sauerkraut. Ummmm, savory and sour. This restaurant really does know how to fix the old favorites. A little mustard, a little bratwurst, a little sauerkraut, and I probably do need to make an appointment with a cardiologist.

Of course, the nicest part of the evening (and why I forgive the slow service) was the fine company I was keeping. We had a great time talking and enjoying a birthday dinner. I don't think you could find four finer friends than the ones I had around the table. I love them all dearly. So you add the friends, a mixed drink, a beer, and a dessert to the appetizers and the bratwurst, well, you have a surefire recipe for indigestion this morning. That's okay. It goes with the territory, and I should probably see a gastroenterologist as well.

The other boys observed an elderly couple seated directly behind me who appeared to be experiencing some obvious indigestion with our celebration. Perhaps Ron said the word, "lesbian," too loud. Maybe they had never seen five gay men eating dinner together, and enjoying it so much. I am fairly certain that we were not being too loud or making spectacles of ourselves, but I could be mistaken. I hope the problem was the couple's food, and not our company.


"B" Cup said...

"Lesbian" was the least of it, when five gay men gather around to drink and celebrate! I did notice the older woman occasionally, and my impression was that she was eating it up—that it was the most exciting overheard dinner conversation she had had in quite some time. I checked out her husband (?) once and he was clearly not so enthralled, but what I saw looked like the customary boredom of enforced quality time with spouse. At one point a loud sound issued from deep within his person of a sort which I've never heard issue from any human being before, something along the lines of a throttled expiring eructation. We should solicit the opinion of our foremost diagnostician, Miss P.