When it comes to basic communication, four year later I am still lost in translation.
As we sit down and sip our cocktails at the Alembic on Friday, hanging out with friends from London, the waitress asks if we think we know what we might like to eat.
- Oh, we're gonna order the whole menu, I say. With this, I mean nothing else than the whole menu is over-the-top good, making it hard for me to single out one or two dishes in particular. And that the four of us around the table have just talked about how the concept of small plates is somewhat lost on the Brits as they are distinctly reluctant to share food, so it would be better if everyone ordered for themselves, in which case, we'd probably end up with pretty much the whole menu on the table.
The girl, who obviously hasn't been privy to any of this, walks of.
A minute later we see her start sorting out cutlery and condiments.
- Oh, know, I sigh. She took me seriously. She really thinks that I want to order the entire menu.
After fretting for a while, I call her back to explain.
- Sorry, excuse me, but - when I said I wanted to order everything, I didn't actually mean everything.
- Oh, I know. I was just gonna give you a minute to decide, that's all.
I need to stop trying to be funny, and just get down to business. Have I not learned anything in four years?
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