The Château de Goût was a grand and popular restaurant situated in the heart of a bustling and lively market complex. The restaurant’s interior was more opulent and radiant than a Persian Sultan’s palace and as the name suggested, was a pioneer of French cuisine. It stood out from its dirty and unkempt surroundings like a white spot in a sheet of black; was the perfect destination for people wanting to indulge into a heap of croissants and also for those simply aiming to boost their social status by having a taste of an apparent ‘rich’ and exquisite cuisine.
The restaurant was known for its calm, sober and organised environment, but on a fine Sunday morning, a fat and unpleasant lady decided to grace the restaurant with her presence, and showed up at the Château’s entrance with her grumpy and cold smile fixed permanently, as though with tape. She wore a completely mismatched outfit: one which boldly and clearly shouted, “Mind you! I’m just one of your regular gossipy neighbours who like to pretend to be part of the higher society!”. Her horrendous attire also managed to do a second job: informing the manager that she wasn’t an important customer and so he advised his team of waiters not to bother paying much attention to her. Little did they know that this woman was indeed a force to be reckoned with.
The lady sat down on a sofa seat in one corner and even the expensive and durable sofa had to sink down to levels it was not familiar with. The customers at the other corner sighed with relief while the ones near the lady groaned, as they all knew that the woman was up to no good. Her physique led to a young lad sitting nearby describe her a “perfect circle”, something which his friends laughed furiously at, attracting some unwanted attention.
Now was the perfect time for the “Perfect Circle” to commence her act and thus she started to wait for the waiter to pass by her. As soon as he did, she called out to him in broken French, using words she had found in a French inspired English book. A native French woman sitting nearby giggled and boldly asked her in French- “Exusez-moi?” Accepting defeat, the menacing woman shifted her attention to her empty plate, prompting her to question the reason for the emptiness.
“It’s been 1 hour and I haven’t got my food waiter!” she shouted across the room to a waiter assigned to her area.
“You haven’t ordered anything yet ma’am” he came to her and said politely, all though inside his mind erupted curses.
“I’ll order the usual”, she replied as though she was the Château’s most frequent customer even though mostly everyone in the restaurant could guess that this was her first visit, “some balls of the croquembouche coupled with the speciality of your restaurant. Quick now, you don’t keep Dorothy Dingdong waiting!”
The waiter trotted away, grinning at Miss Dorothy’s fake claims. After 30 minutes he returned with the desired order and placed it before her. She carefully eyed the croquembouche balls and the speciality- ratatouille and compared them with the local relishes she was familiar with. Then she grabbed a croquembouche ball and put it inside her mouth: the rich creamy flavour did not suite her palate and she desperately tried to maintain a smile of appreciation, which was a way of showing how well she knew the cuisine. Then she gulped a spoonful of the ratatouille and for a moment forgot that her smile had changed into a disgusted grown. Carefully and stealthily she slipped her hand into her purse, took out a sandwich and bit into it, hiding it behind her hands.
“Yum, this dish is truly French!”
Her enemy- the French lady, grabbed the opportunity and sarcastically commented, “Oh really? I didn’t know that a cheese sandwich was a French dish!”
Embarrassingly, Dorothy stated, “The problem in this restaurant is not the food, but the customers indeed.”
Everyone present inside the room nodded in agreement.