So the other day it was my birthday… Happy birthday me, one less year until I die… Anywho, so the other day was my birthday. For it my father took me into London to see a play, and afterwards we went to what is probably the poshest restaurant I’ve ever been to. I mean, it had a freaking smellier. Wait – Is that how it’s spelt? Google!
…That’s not how it’s spelt… I’ve just insulted an entire profession…
Okay! They had a Sommelier. Now this guy was my source of entertainment throughout the entire evening. He was so stereotypical you wouldn’t believe! Proper posh. At one point during the evening, he was taking the orders from the table behind me. The inhabitants of said table weren’t quite the customers the guy approved of, and I almost choked on my onion soup with rice crispies when a loud mouthed Australian dude asked what beers they had.
"A perfectly fine question", you may argue, and yes it is, but the sommelier’s reaction was wonderful. He froze, you could see his spine visibly stiffen, and he paused for a moment. Then, slowly and very cold and calculatedly just replied.
“We don’t really do beer.”
The Australian dude was taken aback, and stammered.
The sommelier looked down at him, and replied.
“We may have something in the kitchen, I shall go and have a look for you.” He then finished taking the rest of the orders, and disappeared off to the kitchen. I don’t know if the man ever got his beer.
What really made me laugh though, was my father’s tactic with the wine. He ordered a half bottle, and the sommelier poured out two glasses. Now I’m not a great fan of red wine, so I was drinking mine really slowly. Throughout the evening I probably drank about half a glass, if that. I was getting some very disapproving looks from the sommelier however, and I’ll explain why.
My father, after he finished his first glass, was about to pour himself and second, when he noticed the sommelier going over to a table nearby, and came up with what he thought was a hilarious scheme. He carefully watched the sommelier and when he turned the other way, swapped our wineglasses over. The man continued on his rounds round the tables, and came to ours, where I was sat with an empty glass in front of me, and my father’s was still full. He careful refilled mine, and moved on.
The next time he finished his glass, my father repeated this, and I could see the man’s eyebrow twitch as he refilled my glass once again. By the end of the evening, my father had finished the entire bottle, and made it appear as if it’d been me, the sommelier was not at all impressed, and I was struggling to keep a straight face.
I think I’ll order something soft next time I eat out with my father.