Small Plates

Every couple of days, I like to call my grandparents and tell them how my week is going along with any interesting things that I have done. My Noni doesn’t really get out of Fairmont … ever … and I’m not even quite sure that she understands what I do for a living, so each conversation is both exhausting and hilarious due to the many questions and misunderstanding.

I called my Noni today to tell her all of my adventures of the week (and there have been quite a few), specifically a Japanese tapas-style restaurant that I went to on Thursday. When it comes to food, she wants to know every single detail – what I ate, how they cooked it (like I am supposed to know), how much garlic they used, how expensive it was, etc. I began explaining my experience at the Japanese restaurant and it just BLEW her mind.

Noni: What you mean tapas?

Me: They are small plates… You order a lot of them that way you can try multiple things.

Noni: Oh I see. Wha’d you eat?

Me: I had a lot of things – fried garlic, grilled avocado, octopus.

Noni: You have spaghet (read: spaghetti)?

Me: No, Non, it’s Japanese. Have you ever heard of a Japanese restaurant serving Italian food?

Noni: Wha’d you have for your entrée?

Me: There is no main dish – it’s tapas style.

Noni: Wha’d you mean you don’ have no entrée?

Me: Small plates. You can have a little bit of everything.


Me: No.

Noni: I don’ understand you city people. You spen’ so much money eatin’ here, eatin’ there, tryin’ to be seen, and you don’ even eat a real meal. My mother’d be so ashamed of me if I did that. No wonder you poor. Don’ ask me for no money because I don’ give it to you. Stunad.

And then she hung up on me. Perhaps this week when I am in town we can visit the local Hibatchi Steakhouse.

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