Monday. Not only do I have to drag myself from bed half an hour to an hour earlier, I also have nothing to eat. Tuesdays and Thursdays and Fridays and Wednesdays I can head to a local haunt for sustenance. Not on Mondays.
Monday is a double cursed day. If lunch was open, I wouldn't much mind Mondays. Today, however, is the day I cannot dine at my favorite crepe shop. That funky soup and sandwich shop is closed on Mondays -- I found that out two weeks ago. The pizza place is deserted.
I decide I'll go down to Fremont street and give another try to a brunch place with book pages on the walls. I check the website. Closed! Closed on Mondays? I wonder if the Thai restaurant next door to it is closed on Monday as well. I cannot remember the name, but there are other cafes on Fremont; I venture out in search of food. I feel like a hunter. An animal on the prowl. I'm hungry! My stomach growls.
The Thai place looks closed, but I am unsure. I park down the street. Do I play it safe and go to the Thai place the other direction down the street I know is open? I've eaten there before and it was only alright. The food was fine, but I also seek charm with my peanut sauce.
I start walking toward uncertainty. I hesitate. I cross the street and walk halfway down the block. I hesitate again and pause. I feel it's too late now. I continue on my chosen course. But wait, a bold sandwich sign with "Open" across is pointing to the brunch place I originally wanted to go to! What once was closed now is open. "New hours," it says.
I seat myself in the sunshine at a table for four. Lord Emsworth will be joining me shortly. A perky woman with curly hair sets a menu before me. I make up my mind quickly. She takes no notice of me, however -- she's discussing jeans and jobs and mutual acquaintances with her friends at the table behind me. She takes their order before mine, although I was seated first. I am annoyed.
I don't much care for menus that have special names for standard fare. I can't bring myself to say those names. "I'll have the salmon sandwich," I say. "The Salmon and Goatfunkle?" The waitress asks. "Yes, please."
I won't say it.
When my lunch is set before me, I realize it's the same thing I ordered the other time I was there. It is good, though a little stingy with the asparagus. The wait, however, is far too long. I probably won't be going back for lunch.
Gelato across the street might make a nice meal.
