A charming dinner yesterday at a new, family-run
Ethiopian restaurant in Southeast Seattle. I won't
mention the name because I'd like to poke a bit of fun
at some menu translation/grammar errors -- there was
beef steak skirt and foul beans.
I'm not sure what I'd wear with a steak skirt.
Something red, perhaps? And as for foul beans,
it's usually what comes a little while after the beans
that's truly foul. Skirts and foul beans aside
the food was excellent, the service was delightful,
and I felt as if I was dining at my own kitchen table.
The waitress (daughter of the owners) brought the five of us
a complimentary appetizer of a deep-fried cheese and cabbage
filled fritter. Yummy! Walking in, we commented
on a large, simple powdered-sugar dusted cake
perched on a cookie sheet -- it was a special order
for a group of about twenty already there. At the close
of our dinner, she brought us each (again, complimentary!)
a slice. We were so lulled into being taken care of
that we had to awaken ourselves to the fact of the bill.
The very small bill, actually. What pleasure!