wishbone clover

Things for Ladies

Sometimes on Wednesdays I have lunch at the counter of Canteen in San Francisco; usually I sit next to "Ruby," an octogenerian who faithfully attends worship services for the best sole quenelles ever.

It's like Tuesdays with Morrie, but we drink wine, talk about Shanghai in the 1930's, and in general are way more interesting than "An Old Man, A Young Man, and Life's Greatest Lesson."

Ruby: What....(tries to make disparate slices of toast fit compactly together) Waitress! Make me some new toast.

(The waitress brings new toast. It does not fit.)

Ruby: Pardon me, but I have poor eyesight. Can you make these fit together?

Me: (fumbling) No.

Ruby: I hate waste. Where are your parents from?

Me: My father's family is from England, my mother's family is from Poland.

Ruby: Poland and England? Those don't fit.

Me: Like bad toast.

Ruby: (cackles)

Excellent Shoes, Bad Attitude: Women I Admire

I like Canteen, a San Francisco restaurant wedged into an old timey coffee shop. Usually I sit at the counter and sometimes talk to fellow diners.

Today I was ignoring a businessman selling me on the benefits of roast lamb/dating him, so I turned toward Ruby, an elderly woman pushing chopped halibut onto the back of her fork.

"Pardon me, what is the dessert?" she asked the waitress.

"Pear clafouti. You had it last time. You liked it," the server replied.

Ruby wore a purple and silvery bone print dress with a pearl brooch and shiny black heels. Her hair was pinned in curls, like Myrna Loy, and her handbag and coat matched her ensemble.

The dessert arrived--a big pancake over sliced pears.

"I've certainly never had this before!" she said, scandalized by the size of the dish. "Will you share?"

We both tried a few bites.

"Well, it's edible," she allowed, licking whipped cream off her spoon.

I covertly asked the waitress to add the dessert to my bill; she uncovertly told Ruby.

"That is totally unacceptable! I offered it to you, and you accepted. I won't stand for it."

She pushed $3 across the counter and refused to take it back. The server told me later that Ruby once visited with two men in their 60's, probably her sons. She ordered two of everything on the menu for them but nothing for herself, chided them to eat more than they wanted, and then paid the bill.

She scolded the waitress again. I added her $3 to my tip.

"Perhaps I will see you next Wednesday. Now you know better."

After she left, I noticed that her snap-clasp handbag remained on the stool. I picked it up, flew out the door, and ran down the rainy street.

photo of Canteen courtesy of Ghastly Cavendish