Speaking Up

On Saturday, my friend Lin and I went out to lunch.  We were seduced by the description of a Brussels sprout salad with caramelized onion and bacon.  The waitress brought two bowls mounded high with shredded Brussels sprouts, not very appealing to look at,  no focal point, and so much of it.  We each took a forkful. 

There was a strong, undefinable bitterness.  Not the Brussels sprouts, but something weirder than that.  We tried to eat it, we picked away at the hard-boiled egg and the bacon for a little protein.  The waitress came by to ask how we were doing, but  we were in the middle of conversation about how life is too short to put up with social situations you don't want to go to  ("I think I'll pass," was an excellent response of Lin's, I thought), and I waved off the waitress because I didn't want us to be interrupted.

When we were ready to go, the waitress gazed at our still-full plates and asked if we wanted boxes to take home the salad.  No, we said.

"What's in that salad?" I asked.  "It's very bitter."

The waitress said she didn't know, that other people had liked it, but there was another cook today.  She whisked away the plates and returned with the check.  Lin's eyes widened.  She turned the bill so I could see:  We'd been comped the lunch.  The only charge was for my Diet Coke. 

We paid, we tipped, we went outside and did high fives.  At 61, we were finally figuring it out--why make nice when you can't stomach it?   Literally, in this case.  And it was so on topic.

After that, we went to the San Jose Art Museum, where there's a show of Joan Brown's work, which I love.

Self-Portrait at Age 42, Joan Brown, 1980

I'm pretty sure Joan Brown would have sent that salad back right away.  After all, she swam to Alcatraz, for God's sake.

After the Alcatraz Swim #3, Joan Brown, 1976.