On a Sunday evening in New York I enjoyed a lovely dinner at the Union Square Café with my friend Jessica. I was happy with my pappardelle until two thirds of the way through my meal, at the next table, a waitperson placed in front of a trim young woman …
Call me a curmudgeon, but so many things about restaurants irk me. Noise. I’m not likely to even patronize an esablishment that vibrates with double-digit decibels. Okay, the alliterative appeal forced me to exaggerate. Since 10 decibels=breathing, 15=rustling leaves, 20=whispers and mosquitoes, I could cope with up to 45 decibels, …
1. I occasionally allow a fan to whir overhead in my bedroom despite a lifelong fear of decapitation by ceiling fan. 2. I eat in restaurants, even though there’s the possibility that a waiter (annoyed by my requests for tastes of wine, glasses of ice, dish of lemons, sauce on the side) …