We enjoyed a rare night out to celebrate my sailor’s birthday.
I wanted him to have a great time, so I organized everything ahead of time. (Dinner reservations and tickets to see a play–the evening’s events would be smooth and seamless.)
All that planning paid off. We by-passed the line of people waiting to be seated and were having a lovely talk over the flickering jack o’lantern candle when our dinners arrived.
Mine, a salad with feta cheese and a marinated chicken breast, was perfect.
My sailor’s, a grilled salmon fillet, didn’t look…right. It was smothered in tomato sauce and melted cheese.
“Salmon’s not usually prepared with cheese,” I noted.
Not one to complain (he’s SO not like me in this regard), he picked up his cutlery. “Maybe the chef’s trying something new.”
He sliced into it. Under all the sauce and cheese, it was solid and white, not pink and flakey.
It wasn’t salmon.
The waitress was apologetic when we flagged her down.
“It was my mistake, not the kitchen’s. I ordered chicken parmesan, not grilled salmon. I’m so sorry!”
“That’s okay,” said my sailor. (Did I mention he doesn’t complain much.)
“I’ll order the salmon,” she said picking up his plate. “Can I buy you a glass of wine while you’re waiting?”
He shook his head. “I’m driving.”
“I’m not!” I piped up.
Since the restaurant was busy, I finished my glass of wine while we waited for my sailor’s dinner.
The server felt so bad about getting his order wrong, she brought him a big slice of strawberry cheesecake after she cleared our plates.
It was delicious!
(Did I mention my sailor doesn’t eat sweets?)