In A Bit of A Pickle

At the time that this was happening, I was forced to believe that restaurant staff are rude in Montreal. Later it was explained to me that the staff may have been rude, by law. Liquor law. I could fight my argument until I was blue in the face, but I would rather make light of the situation, and let you in on my own personal Seinfeld experience.

My friend Jakub (or the Polish formerly known as Kuba) were sitting down to a nice patio dinner in the sun. The restaurant? Thursdays. From the outside, it looked like any other pub on the strip, from the inside, a more fancier facade.

"Room for two on the patio?" The hostess looked quite pleased to seat us, "But of course!" he replied. He wasn't kidding, there was literally, room, for two on this patio which was suffocating with chairs and tables, "Right this way." He lead us to our seats.

Nothing on the menu seemed to interest Jakub and I on this hot, Thursday evening. "Let's just order some drinks" I suggested. Jakub, was fond of the idea.

The waiter approached with some complimentary appetizers. Sitting on our table now was a basket of bread, a large piece of mediocre cheese, and.. strangest of all, a jar of gerkins? This explained the love for pickles on the patio. People just couldn't get enough, fingers, forks and spoons in the jar. Everyone wanted more pickles. 

Jakub and I looked at each other questionably, joked about eating them then leaving, and continued to skim the menu for anything familiar.

"Let's just order a bottle of wine," I suggested. "That way we can compensate for the lack of food we are about to not order." All parties were in agreeance, when the waiter arrived with our bottle of red wine (which I am allergic to). "What would you like to eat?" he asked. "Oh, we are just going to enjoy some drinks in the sun, thanks." I explained.

The waiter then proceeded to tell us, that if we were to have a patio seat, then we MUST order food. I was shocked. We bartered back and forth for a bit, but finally, Jakub and I decided to order something on the menu. A caesar salad. But not just ANY caesar salad. No way. This had to be the BEST caesar salad in the country. Why you ask? Because it was 12 dollars.

The caesar salad for two arrived at our table. The waiter reached over the two girls sitting inches beside our table, "Parmesan?"

After we disposed of the sardines, scraped the bowl, and Jakub accidentally ate the stray leaf that fell in from the wind, we were ready to call it a day.

"So, what can we get you now?" the waiter insisted.

"Nothing. We are finished." I said.

The waiter pivoted around to his colleague and loudly instructed, "They aren't eating, TAKE AWAY THE PICKLES!"

Today's lesson:
Keep your hands outta the jar