We went to an eatery on a Friday and the place was full, but a man in a shower cap said a table would be free soon. So we stood near the cashier’s counter and watched people eat while outside there was a stiff chilly, breeze though it was it was a mid-March afternoon.
For some reason the management had got all the waiters to wear shower caps including the chef, who looked very harried with the huge crowd and looked like he had just come out of the shower. “This must be the Indian equivalent of a chef’s hat,” I said. “Da…ad,” said my son, as usual embarrassed by whatever I say in public. “But they look cute,” said my wife, and that shocked my son even more.
“I am sure this is not what Dubai Municipality meant about all restaurant staff maintaining high hygiene,” I said.
“Why is that bald waiter wearing a shower cap?” said my son, trying to be funny.
We tried very hard not to stare at the people eating, but my wife asked the waiter what the couple sitting at a corner table was eating. “Oh, that?” said the waiter loudly, looking at them and started explaining, while we all watched the couple eat. “It’s steamed rice in a pipe,” he said.
“Can’t we just go to the Iranian place nearby? I want koobideh,” said my son. “No,” I told my son assertively. “Remember we came here as we all wanted to eat South Indian? You usually have to wait to get a seat in places where everyone knows the food is good”.
The music was blaring loud from hidden speakers somewhere in the roof and behind the cashier’s counter and a woman in a girl’s voice was teasing her lover who seemed cheesed off at her for some reason. In Dubai, people go for brunches on Fridays. It is breakfast for lazy people who cannot get up early. So they start eating at 11 in the morning and continue through lunch and it usually ends at four, I told my son.
“And they imbibe beverages,” piped in my wife.
“We should go for a brunch instead,” I said, thinking out loudly.
“In Rome…” I began and everybody whispered loudly, “Here we go again.”
“In ancient Rome, the Romans would recline on easy chairs and gorge on food for hours. It was called an orgy and when they were full they would….”
“Enough,” said my wife. “We came to enjoy a nice lunch.”
“Where’s the food?” I asked. “We are in a restaurant and I am not eating yet.”
“Maybe we should just order and go home and wait for home delivery,” said my son impatiently.
Suddenly a tussle started next to us. “No sir, no, no, no, no,” said a man as he tried to snatch the lunch bill from another man. “No, no, no, no,” said the other man, as he held the bill high over his head as his friend floundered around. “When you take a girl out, be a gentleman and pay for the food,” I told my son.
“Don’t put ideas in his head,” said my wife.
“I hate girls,” said my son. “They are always showing off their good grades.”
“The Dubai government is complaining that people eat too much and are getting fat,” I said. “It seems there are an inordinate lot of people who are overweight.”
“I don’t know how that can happen when nobody can get anything to eat,” said my son.
A waiter in a blue shower cap then came to us and ushered us to a table next to a very noisy family. “We have crab soup special today,” he said.
“Perfect,” I said under my breath, crabbily.
Mahmood Saberi is a freelance journalist based in Dubai.