She looked famished as she walked in, tired too.
Her son and her husband (I presume) who accompanied her made a beeline for the buffet table. Her elfin face showed signs of agitation or was it just hunger.
She sat the things down and shivered (was it that cold outside?). Tourist.
She then took up a warm plate from the end of buffet and slowly started picking up food from the vegetarian section.
Can I have some pita bread? I heard her say to me. Yes of course I replied. She made her way to the counter to pay for her food. And may I have some falafel too? Two pieces.
I will give you four pieces as they are small I replied. I had this manly urge to feed the poor famished waif.
As I warmed the pita bread I could not help but notice how small she looked, was she really the mother of that child?
Once she had the bread she joined her husband and son at the table where they had taken shrimps and sausages.
I had poured mango juice for the child who was behaving well for his age. I watched them as they ate. She of course was the vegetarian and did not accept the food that her son tried to feed her.
Once the pangs of hunger had died down they mellowed a bit, watching the passerbys, other diners and just generally talking among themselves.
She would laugh sometimes and I could not help but watch her as I moved behind the counter.
I came out and though I was not required to clean the tables I just moved around the restaurant watching her face from different areas and light of the restaurant.
Her eyes were small and her hair looked like someone had been running their fingers through it. The wind maybe. It had rained a little earlier and there were some rain drops in her hair and when they caught light they shone like gems in her caramelized hair.
I am going to try some dessert she announced to her man and made way towards the dessert counter.
I saw her approaching me maneuvered my way to the dessert counter and waited eagerly to serve her.
Are these pies? She enquired. Yes, this is apple pie and that is a prune pie. I replied.
What is a prune pie? Prune is a local fruit I tried to explain to her. I did not speak good English (she seemed to understand only English)
But it is good very good, try it I coaxed. Ok so I will take Baklava and a slice of Prune pie. Excellent choice miss.
I watched her eat, she seemed to enjoy it her eyes closed and she sat back after putting a morsel of pie in her mouth. The sight was mesmerizing as if she was not only savoring the pie but melting away with it.
I felt proud I had recommended something that brought her so much joy.
As a rule, the customers pay before taking the food to the table. But when she came for the pie she asked if she could pay later and gestured towards her husband who was still eating.
Yes, that would be 7 CHF. No problem you go ahead and eat it you can pay later.
My boss was going to kill me but it was not like she would take the pie and run away.
Besides her knapsack was still there and her coat too. The man and her child were there too eating more shrimps and sausages.
She did not like the Baklava she made faces and fed it to her husband.
My boss was back from his break and at the counter and it was end of my shift too. I had to get my free food before I left. I went to the kitchen and got my pizza and sat a table away from where their stuff was.
Her husband paid for the food and he and the child were taking pictures at the buffet table. “Don’t touch anything more if you are done eating” I heard her call out to her son.
Oh! we are just taking pictures her husband replied.
She spotted me. Passed by, bent down and sweetly whispered “The pie was great, thank you” and walked on outside.
The pizza just stayed stuck in my throat for an eternity as I watched them outside, playfully talking and taking more pictures.
Then I saw them take pictures of the restaurant name. I want the name I heard her soft voice.
She was going to think of me every time she heard pie I thought to myself and let her go.I hope to see her again in this lifetime.
I was famished and ready to drop. We had left early and breakfast was hours ago.
I was totally lost in marveling the chateau and did not realize that it was hunger that was driving me up the wall not my poor husband (who at the moment was only trying to help by looking for a good place for us to eat).
We had passed by the restaurant earlier too and I had thought of just barging in and eating whatever I could find.
A huge statement coming from me the vegetarian who had but limited food to choose from in this parts where fish too was considered vegan.
But we spent about twenty minutes walking about because the guy at the next restaurant (who was closing anyways) told us that restaurant is not good, walk up around 20 minutes and you will find a good Punjabi restaurant.
I wanted food and right now I could have eaten anything. My son was hungry too and we walked into a Crêpière.
The lady there was too busy to even look at us so we came out and started walking again.
We passed by an Italian restaurant and the smell of sea food made me want to throw up. We were definitely not going in there.
We retraced our steps and went back to the restaurant we were advised against.
The buffet looked inviting. Look there’s hummus and tabbouleh and fattoush and look look Samboosek (samosas)!! I am eating all of this.
I wanted some pita bread. I noticed one of the waiters cleaning up a table but when I approached him he just waved me away.
So I slowly approached a similarly dressed man behind the counter. He was multi-tasking, making a doner kebab, grilling the sausage my son wanted and grinning at me.
Can I have some pita bread? I said to him. Yes of course he replied. As I made my way to the counter to pay for my food I remembered the falafel. And may I have some falafel too? Two pieces.
I will give you four pieces as they are small he replied.
My what a nice man. He is God’s angel sent to feed me some great food today.
The falafel came along with the hot pita bread and suddenly the plate in front of me was like a blessing.
I was cold and hungry before I came in and I felt I was sinking in the warmth of the place, the aroma of the food and the eyes at the back of my head which kept looking to make sure I was feeding myself well.
He was very helpful, poured my son some mango juice and made sure we were comfortable and eating.
What a great asset he must be to the restaurant owner. If he kept all the customers this happy they would love to keep coming back here and of course the food was great too.
After the monster growling in my stomach was attacked with some sumptuous food I was more at peace and started noticing the surroundings.
There were quite a few locals there in fact we were the only tourists around.
The place was quite detached and informal and warm and nice at the same time.
I could see him from time to time as he moved along the tables, I thought he worked behind the counter but he was just moving around.
Checking on whether I was eating everything on my plate or not. I figured he did not want me to waste anything on my plate, was it considered rude to leave food on your plate? Not that I had any morsel left, the plate looked licked.
I am going to try some dessert I announced to my husband and son and made way towards the dessert counter.
He saw me approaching me maneuvered his way to the dessert counter.
Are these pies? I enquired. Yes, this is apple pie and that is a prune pie. He replied.
What is a prune pie? Prune is a local fruit he tried to explain to me. He did not speak good English. But he conveyed it that that’s the pie he wanted me to have.
But it is good very good, try it he coaxed. Ok so I will take Baklava and a slice of Prune pie. Excellent choice miss. He grinned again.
As a rule, the customers pay before taking the food to the table. But when I came for the pie I asked if it was ok to pay later and gestured towards my husband who was still eating.
Yes, that would be 7 CHF. No problem you go ahead and eat it you can pay later he told me nicely.
The pie was so delicious eyes closed, I sat back after putting a morsel of pie in my mouth. I was not only savoring the pie but melting away with it.
I did not like the Baklava made faces and fed it to my husband. I was still in the pie.
My husband paid for the food and he and my son were taking pictures at the buffet table. “Don’t touch anything more if you are done eating” I called out to my son.
Oh! we are just taking pictures my husband replied.
I spotted him. He had got a pizza and sat a table away from where our stuff was. I passed by, bent down and sweetly whispered “The pie was great, thank you” and walked on outside.
The taste of the pie will linger with me and the sweetness of the man too, it was a great place and maybe someday when I am back I will come here again and have some pie. (Will he still be there then? The sweet pie man)???