Eat

For my one but last evening in Johannesburg, people I knew were all busy. I was hungry and did not feel like cooking so I curiously decided to get to my favourite restaurant on my own. I took a book and went off for my first time alone-at-the-restaurant experience.

It was much easier than I though, may be I have grown in maturity, I did quite enjoyed it; reading my book, drinking wine and ordering quickly. In the middle of the evening I started to get much more pleasure from that situation than I would have expected, the mood and the music were soft and smooth, easy to glide on.

In the end I decided to stay a little longer than planned – event though I had to meet people afterward – and spoiled myself with a little cake. When it landed on my table I was reading; I continued while eating the raspberry jam on the side. Against my tong I felt an awkward sensation like a leaf in the middle of the sugary cold jelly. I pulled it out of my mouth and laid it on the side of the plate to notice very surprised that it was a dead cockroach. I stared at it a short while.

I called the waiter and kindly required him to take the plate away while asking for the bill. I didn’t say any thing, as you are not supposed to say that word over there – Taboo! – but he nodded comprehensively, he was embarrassed. I paid and left, not too unhappy about that evening after all.

But don’t you think it is ironic that for my last restaurant in South Africa, for my last ordered course, it was the first time I found a cockroach in my food. It is as if something was saying, well if you leave, leave with a bad taste in your mouth. But I don’t. I know better.

So farewell my lady and see you later maybe. Papa’s flying back home, for good.