If your name is Jonathan, and you were the server for a table of three women at ChaChah last week, I'd like to apologize on behalf of all of us and thank you for your patience and help.
Southern women usually say, "Oh, I'll eat anything." But that wasn't true for our party of three. First of all, we couldn't decide how much food to get. No one wanted to overeat, but we were highly motivated to order because we couldn't have more drinks until we ate.
The bargaining began. We couldn't agree on big plates or small ones. One of us wouldn't eat lamb or octopus. One of us wanted the stuffed dates. One of us would not touch dates. One wanted sausage and potatoes. Another refused to eat potatoes. Two small plates and one big racione didn't seem like enough. The bargaining began again over which additional racione, then, we should order.
Then the wine selection. A sparkling pink was summoned from the bar. Too sweet. A non-sparkling pink was summoned from the bar. Somewhat vinegary. The wine list was brought out. Red? Or white? One only drank white, one drank red or white, one got headaches from Chardonnay, one found pinot grigio too tasteless to pair with food.
For the record, the barbecue bison was the entrée, with pinchos of crab fritters and lamb meatballs, plus the three-dip selection. Hours later, everyone left happy, possibly the happiest being our server.
Servers, do you dread seeing that table of Southern women?