I ate at a Japanese restaurant tonight. Nothing new to report there. But a group of women who had chosen this place to eat were easily eavesdropped upon, and it erupted into repeated requests from the management upon leaving.
They didn’t want hardly anything off the menu once they found out what it was.
“I’d like the miso soup… what’s in that?”
I would have told them… it’s a thin, soy-based broth with small pieces of tofu. The waitress called it “seaweed soup.” They all made a raucous and changed their order to salads. Next, it was questions about this and that… “what’s this?” “oh god no… hahaha… no no no…”
They liked steamed soybeans and california rolls.
Something they ordered as an appetizer, however, was too bland for them. Myself, I find Japanese cuisine bland. But that’s why I like it… subtle, fresh flavors, when it’s good.
“We need hot mustard for this, please.”
My head turned abruptly and I stared them all down. “Did they just ask for hot mustard?”
Like I wrote the Funk and Wagnalls, I declared in an voice both exclamatory and defiant, “There is no mustard in Japanese cuisine.”
The waitress, who is Chinese, didn’t understand. “What do you want?”
“HOT MUSTARD SAUCE… to dip this into… for flavor?!”
“What?”
Another waiter came over, trying to figure out what these ladies wanted. “Don’t you have some kind of hot sauce? Something with spice?”
“Oh, you want our spicy sauce?”
“No, hon, I want some spicy mustard. M.U.S.T.E.R.D.!” she spelled out for them, but yes, incorrectly.
The waitress left to get them some spicy mayonnaise used in the more Americanized sushi rolls… One lady exclaimed as I was walking out: “Did you ever hear of that? An oriental place without hot mustard?”
I was so upset by their ignorance, as I sauntered into the parking lot. “Hot mustard? Where do they think they are, for god’s sake?!” I yelled. “P.F. Chang’s? Why don’t they go southside and get themselves some spicy sauce there at old P.F. Chang’s?!”
I was okay after a few minutes.
