The Panga’s Fillet

by

Preston Kullingher

She wanted to eat seafood. I wanted to stay home. We got into the car and set off towards the rich part of town. I, like a courtship, she on the gravy train.
The French restaurant chosen by her on the advice of a friend was not the most expensive, the second most expensive.
Oh, accepts card! and I can pay by installments. 🙂
The menu looked like my wedding album, dozens of dishes, all with weird names. Is this written in French or Italian? For me it was all fish or shrimp, which for me is also fish. Is shrimp fish? What is shrimp?
She looked at the menu concerned. I doubted he was understanding something. He turned the pages, ran his finger through the pages, went to the end, returned to the beginning. Finally said:

Baby! I’ll eat what you will eat.

Ha, I knew it. She would not dare. The language barrier was louder. I won. I will be able to choose the dish, the future of my salary was in my hands. A wrong choice and the next month would be just to pay this dinner. I needed to concentrate, to meditate on the names, in the French language, the most stubborn should be the most expensive or the smallest as well as the perfumes? I was impatient. The waiter expected indifferent. She looked at me, he looked at me, I looked at the menu. The distress grew. It was almost sweating, I had to make up my mind one last glance. Eeny, meeny, miny, mo… I closed my eyes and pointed, the clumsy voice.

This. – I waited for the waiter’s reaction, nothing.

– What’s the wine, sir? – He asked.

Wine? Wine! Wine, oh yes, the wine. Look! The custom of drinking soda. I forgot that in those places one drinks wine.

– A port wine, please!

What’s the wine and the vintage?

Any suggestions on the house? I learned this on television show in an etiquette program.

The entrances came, the main dish (so little!), The second dish and, just look, a third dish, it was a feast, I felt like a king. At this point my mood had improved a lot, perhaps because of the wine glasses coming and going, so much I was asking for dessert, without worrying about the bill that was so high for my standards of civil servant. Satisfied with the delightful orgy that a beautiful feast offers, the time has come to ask for the outstanding balance of the meal.

Baby! What‘s up? Are you feeling all right? You ate too much didnt you? You up until now was just so excited in the restaurant, was just getting in the car … What bug bit you

A three-digit bug had bit me.
In the apartment, still face-tied, as usual lay in my hammock and picked up the magazine to read; The woman getting ready to go to sleep (because a woman gets ready to go to sleep, see!), I went through the magazine to the end where there was a recipe for cheap fish, which is found in every supermarket, with a very easy sauce to make with milk cream. The ingredients were all only fifteen bucks. It’s strange, that dish seemed familiar, the drawing, I guess ….
A friend of the apartment next to ours told me the other day that heard a shrill cry, as if in pain, He thought that was coming from my apartment, and I answered vaguely that I did not remember hearing any screams.

Black out.
When I saw on the recipe page the name of the dish in small French letters below to “PANGASIUS FILLET TO WHITE SAUCE”. I don’t remember any more after this.

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