We have a regular customer at my restaurant who loves to bring in baked stuff for us. I don't really know his whole story; he spends a lot of time at the bar, but he doesn't drink. He just talks to all of us. He's not creepy, which is a nice change from some of our bar regulars. He's always bringing in cakes and pies he's made at home, glowing with pride and clearly basking in our enjoyment of it.
Tonight, he brought in a flourless chocolate cake, with crushed raspberry sauce. He'd even used a stencil to trace a powdered sugar fairy and flowers on it. It was beautiful, and looked delicious. When I was done with my shift, he asked me if I was going to have some; I said I needed to have some real food first since I hadn't eaten all day (today was crazy hectic). When I was eating, he smiled at me from the bar and told me not to forget to save room for dessert. I just smiled with my mouth full, hoping he'd forget.
I almost made it out, too; then one of my coworkers brought up the cake and the guy's face lit up. He right away cut me a slice and drizzled sauce over it. Fuck. I didn't want to hurt his feelings! So I told him I was full and would take it home. Then I had a tiny, tiny bite, just the very tip of the slice, not even a half a spoon, so that I could give him the big smile and the compliment he wanted.
It really was a very good cake. I did bring the box home, because I didn't want him to see me throw it away. It's sitting on my oven now. I had planned to put it down the garbage disposal right away, but had to clear out the sink first. I did some dishes; I did some laundry; I watched some "King Of The Hill." The cake is still there. Even after tasting it, and it being delicious, and a nice slice of it carefully boxed up in my kitchen ... I don't really want it. I didn't have to talk myself out of eating it; it's as appetizing as the styrofoam box it's in.
And I don't know why. So I don't feel triumphant, or proud, or anything. Mostly ... puzzled.
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