In trying to find something new to do, I was sucked into polka. And then, when the moment came, it was with dismay that we skulked away from the bar, tails between our legs, having not danced around like the idiots we might well have been, for all I cared. By the end of that evening, I genuinely wanted to dance. And we're going back soon.
We were sitting in a poly-something-blend booth, with dark, sticky wood, and listening to a cacophony of crooning and oom-pah, and our server was wearing a black and red bowling shirt, joked with us about our iPhones, and my unnatural attachment to mine (I was furiously taking notes), and he decoded the beer list for us (one of them, according to him, tasted "like sh*t"--we eschewed that one for another with a silly name that I can't remember). He messed up our order for salad instead of soup, and we ended up with polish sausage stew instead of anything resembling a vegetable, right before our polish sausage and pierogis arrived, on a bed of almost obscenely fragrant sauerkraut.
All in all, it felt like a throwback to another time, when people took time over their meals, and laughed over the sounds of clinking flatware. I can't wait to go back. I loved that feeling.
No comments:
Post a Comment