We had lunch at our favorite local pizza place last week. The salads are good, the pizzas are great, and the cannolis are amazing. They make them with a very light cookie shell, reminiscent of a pizzelle, only lighter with a creamy, almost mousse-like filling. We always start with a salad and then get a large pizza, half white with ricotta and half red, prosciutto and garlic over all. Needless to say, they use fresh mozzarella and basil on every pie. We always have a good time there, but last week we were off to a bumpy beginning. We arrived at 11:45 a.m. only to be told that ovens wouldn’t be ready for another 45 minutes, so we could just have salads or come back later. We opted for the latter. Normally the place is open by 11:30, but there were some late repairmen that morning and some water issues—those in the business know how it goes—and the ovens were fired up late. We came back about half an hour later and opted to wait for the ovens while we had our salads. The long-suffering server turned away a few more groups as we waited, so I can only imagine how many had come and gone while we were away (this is a very popular place).
Anyway, a family of four was the first to be greeted without the pizza oven speech. Mother, grandmother, and two kids. They bounced around the room, trying five different tables before settling in the last booth. We were mildly amused by their antics and sympathetic with the waitress’s plight, but then our pizzas arrived, and we forgot them. When we next looked around, we realized that we were alone in the restaurant. We could hear the server discussing something with the cooks, and so when she came to check on us, we inquired about the family. Apparently, they had ordered one small pie (pies only here) and four waters. When she went to place the order, they pulled out bag lunches from home. Apparently, only the small boy was eating pizza. She approached the table and let them know that they didn’t allow people to bring in food from the outside, but they were welcome to take the pizza to go. The grandmother proceeded to inform her that the food wasn’t from the outside because she had made the food at home. Furthermore, she and her daughter DIDN’T EAT PIZZA. Hello? We’re sitting in a serious pizza parlor, one that doesn’t even serve pastas or heroes, just salads, pizza, and dessert. The waitress threw them out. She noted that if they had asked her if she minded them bringing their own food, it might have gone a bit better for them, but probably not. They were difficult from the moment they walked in, and she took great pleasure in telling them to leave. Heaven knows there have been times when I wanted to do the same. Honestly, would you do that at someone’s home? Actually, that grandma probably would.
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