The Table

The reviews were stunning, the experience was supposedly divine and the chef, like many greats, was elusive and sort of a mad genius. He mandated not to accept table reservations, much to the chagrin of food critics. That meant getting a table was a lesson in classic Darwinism. The one who was ready to wait in line longest, survived.

So, it wasn’t exactly surprising that we were in a line at 3pm. It was crazy but I was excited to be in line and had it all planned out. I would ask the hostess for the table overlooking the lake. The 3rd one, to be exact. It would give the best view of the skyline. The deep blue lake, the sprawling skyline and the gorgeous setting sun made it the best seat in the restaurant. And that is the one I wanted.

I am weird like that. Before visiting a restaurant, I pore over the Yelp reviews, look at all the photos and guesstimate the best seat in the restaurant. Then I make reservations for that exact table. Friends call me obsessive and honestly, it is a little over the top, but can you truly have a magical experience without being at the best seat?

At 6.30pm, we are at front of the line and I ask the host for the table I want. He looks at me with surprise, smiles and goes to check. He comes back with an expression that tells me the answer — ‘No way you are getting that table’.

He suggests the table that is actually free. I am terribly disappointed. I try to sweet talk him into giving us that table. We can always wait longer. He starts to get a little impatient and that’s when she puts her hand on mine and says, “We’ll take it.”

I look at her and she just patiently nods. We follow the host to a table. I can’t see the skyline but the lake looks beautiful. “Come on, it is not the end of the world!”, she says and tries to cheer me up. It is a 21 course meal and starts with sumptuous nitrogen-chilled avocado slices, lightly dressed with spicy mayo. I taste them and instantly feel a little better.

Her eyes are closed, still savoring the avocado. I can’t help look at her. Dressed in a simple black dress, she is glowing in the soft candle light. The pearl necklace looks elegant on her slender neck. The pretty, radiant face hiding the dimples, the kind of dimples that inspire poets. It is a silent moment and I, strangely, feel at peace. She slowly opens her eyes, looks at me and blushes — she knows that she has been savoring the avocado far too long — and then bursts into a laughter. And it is then I realize, the reviews don’t matter, with her across me, I will always have the best table at any restaurant.