On entering the time-honoured restaurant, he was greeted by its splendid interior and a sign asking him to wait to be seated. To describe him, some would use the word fat, but not in a place like this. No, he was plump, or perhaps corpulent. He wore a loose white suit, a bright orange tie and a panama hat askew over of his flushed face. He waited patiently at the entrance, observing the rich decor with awe. The walls were clad with large mirrors or bore wood carvings with gilded details. The sections of the restaurant were separated by Corinthian pillars stretching from floor till ceiling and from the ceiling itself hung large chandeliers. With childish glee he watched the waiters, in their starched white tenues, work behind the zinc bar or scurry across the expensive carpets. Several parties were seated around sumptuously laid tables, having late afternoon tea or aperitif, and the guests were all tastefully dressed.
Suppressed laughter broke out at a nearby table and his eyes landed on one particular lady. She was smiling graciously, and a diamond studded necklace hung around her pale neck. The light played on the surface of the precious stones, bouncing off in colourful and mesmerising rays. But when she sensed being watched and turned to face him, her smile was cut short. Her face abruptly changed into a stern expression, lips pursed and frowning. Our man averted his eyes but the entire table had soon turned towards him and in the mirrors he could see other heads turning as the murmur inside the restaurant subtly picked up pace.
The host, in a black frock coat, walked up with long steps, a blank face and thin, frozen lips. He looked the guest up and down twice. His orange tie knot, if you could call it that, was a crumpled mess the size of a child’s fist. Half a wrinkled newspaper stuck out from the bulging pocket of his jacket and his shoes, well.. They were not oxfords, derbys or even loafers, but something one might wear on a hike, made of brown, synthetic material with cushioning heels.
The host produced a pen and hovered it above his ledger. “Good afternoon, sir. Do you have a reservation with us today?” he asked through barely parted lips.
The guest leaned over the ledger, almost grazing the host with the brim of his hat. “Yes, in the name of Huberman” he said, indicating with his finger where he had found his name. The host moved his mouth as if saying “ah”, but no sound came. He stabbed the pencil down and etched a note in the ledger. “Huberman, party of one. Very good sir, if you would please come with me.”
He walked briskly through the restaurant and the guest hurried to keep up with him, smiling and nodding greetings to patrons and waiters as he passed. “Here you are, sir,” the host said, gesturing towards the table “a waiter will be with you shortly”. Huberman took a seat with his back towards the wall and saw that many heads still were turned towards him. He took out the newspaper, unfolded it rather clumsily and held the wrinkled thing in front of his face like a shield to the scrutinizing stares.
It was not long before he could hear water being poured and a waiter addressing him on the other side of the paper. Lowering it, he surveyed the room, pleased to find that he was no longer the centre of attention. He ordered and then again took to admiring the interior, though this time mainly the decorated ceiling and chandeliers. Taking his hat off, he wiped a bit of perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket, then put it back on and smiled hesitantly, who knows what for.
A quarter of an hour later his order was brought out. “Here you are, sir” the waiter announced with a clinking of porcelain as he placed it on the table. “An Irish coffee, double, and a chocolate fondant à la maison. Enjoy, sir.”
He thanked the waiter affectionately before turning his undivided attention to the table. The fondant was hot and the ice cream next to it was slowly melting. He took the little fork and cut the fondant open. The liquid center slowly poured out of the cut and blended with the ice cream. He took a bite and glowed with excitement. What bliss! He loudly smacked his tongue like he was tasting a rare wine. Leaning back in his seat, he sat so for a while, eyes closed, with a serene expression across his face. Then he took to studying the appetizing scene in front of him: the fondant, perfect in richness and taste, and next to it, served in a thin, footed glass, the Irish coffee. At the bottom of the glass he could see the more transparent whisky gathered, and at the top a thick layer of whipped cream spread across the surface, garnished with two coffee beans. He brought the glass to his lips but the cream was so thick, it lay like a lid across the top of the glass and no coffee would come. He tilted it even further but still nothing. Then he angled it even more and the unthinkable happened. The thick cream which had kept the coffee in place now gave way at once, and the hot coffee poured forth against his face, scolding him. He jerked the glass away instinctively, a bit too quickly, and more of it got on his shirt and jacket. He put the glass down so hard on the table that the foot broke and it fell over with a crash, spilling coffee all over the white tablecloth. Around him several people laughed audibly as he grabbed the napkin in panic, trying to wipe the spillage off, cheeks turning scarlet.
Coffee was dripping on the carpet and a waiter came and grabbed hold of the cloth, folding it onto the table in an attempt to contain the damage. “I’m so sorry,” Huberman stuttered “I.. It was the coffee, the cream.. I should have known”. “Can I get you anything sir?” asked another waiter who had just approached with more napkins. But Huberman could wish for nothing but to disappear. He stood up, rummaged the pockets of his stained jacket and produced two bills. “I’m sorry, so sorry..” he said, as he put them on the chair and sped towards the exit. Head was lowered, seeking refuge under the brim of his hat, he absently rubbed some stain or other with the napkin as he walked. The noise in the restaurant rose to a fever pitch and he exited so eagerly that he left the revolving door spinning.
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