“That’s a tomato,” said my waitress with a grin, after I pointed at a picture I thought was steak, vocally ordering the steak. I was way out of my league at this Mediterranean restaurant, and now she knew it as well.
Her second clue was when I ordered the loaded fries with the “hero” meat. My uncultured vocabulary didn’t arrive to save the day on this round.
And finally, I hinted that our ranch was going a bit sour, only to be told that it wasn’t ranch at all, but a cucumber, sour cream, something or other. Definitely not ranch. It was at this point during the meal that I left my body, and crawled under the table in a giant, embarrassed ball where words like “tzatziki” and “babaganoush” could no longer mock me.
This was confusing, as are most things we don’t fully understand.
I wish I had more grace for similarly confusing situations around more serious topics than meat and vegetables. Truth be told, I can get a little high-and-mighty, with a know-it-all posture–pompous even–and that’s hard to admit. If I allowed some grace to come into the conversation, some patience for just a little proper education, I could calmly state what is obvious to me, and move on.
“That’s a tomato.”
Said with a patient smile. As simple as that.