In which Burfit and Durdlin play grown ups

For our slamiversary this year we booked a table at a very nice, very intimate, very award-winning restaurant in the inner west of Brisbane. We got spruced up (I even wore a dress) because it was a special occasion and we don’t do things like this often.

The restaurant was essentially just two little rooms and the wait staff were particularly attentive so we were ‘on’ the whole time. No slouching, no burping, no scratching. I sat with my back to the wall and could see the wait staff most of the time. From their vantage point in the middle of the building, they could see into the kitchen and the main dining areas so you only had to glance in their direction for one of them to swoop down to ask if there was anything we needed.

Our waiter asked if we wanted anything from the bar. Burfit had (correctly, I suspect) anticipated that ordering Coke might be frowned upon, so I took a stab in the dark and ordered us both a glass of wine. I’m pretty sure at this point our body language screamed IMPOSTERS, but we carried on. We ordered our meals and a side of buttered green beans to share (best. beans. ever.) and were left to our wine and stilted conversation. I felt our conversation – which was mostly witty observations about our current predicament – really ought to have focused on classic literature or art. I told Burfit as much and then remembered a recent post from Mojo Hannah so I told Burfit about that.

All this is to say, I felt extremely awkward. But I should point out that it wasn’t an unpleasant experience. No one was nasty to us, quite the contrary in fact. But it did highlight the fact that I’m much more comfortable at home in my slippers than I am almost anywhere else.

Our meals were superb. Really, very good indeed. We passed on dessert because we knew we had strawberries and Nutella waiting for us at home. When we got to the car we burst into giggles, like we’d gotten away with something. I imagine after we left the staff murmured to each other their observations about what an odd couple we were.

I’d like to go back there with someone who knows how to be a grown up in a restaurant such as this one (Lindy? Trevor?).

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8 responses to “In which Burfit and Durdlin play grown ups

  1. Maybe they thought it was your first date…

  2. Umm … what makes you think we’re grown up in restaurants? We’re both country bumpkins having been dragged up in Townsville(me) and Ipswich(him). So we know all about being intimidated in classy eateries. However, we finally worked out that WE were paying THEM so they should be living up to our expectations, not the other way around. If you want a coke, order a coke and make it damn snappy my good man/woman.

    Last Saturday night, we took my aunt and my cousin out to a very spiffy place overlooking the Yarra. It was my cousin’s birthday and in honour of the occasion, he turned up in the oddest selection of rather grubby clothes you ever saw. I didn’t know they made shirts in that colour anymore. We have a theory that he never has any idea what he’s wearing as his mind is on higher things – like Chopin.
    Despite this, the classy wait staff treated us like royalty, brought us glorious food and wine, laughed at our pathetic jokes and had us out in good time for the ballet. I’m sure they did more than murmur about our oddness after we left but who cares about that.
    We were happy to pay the outrageous bill, they had a good snigger about our strange Queensland manners and everyone went home happy. That’s what a good restaurant is all about.

    • …”as his mind is on higher things – like Chopin”

      Is he thinking about Chopin? Or does he, like Chopin, have his mind on higher things?

      • Very nice point! We, who are becoming sloppy grammarians, salute you Miss Durdlin.

        • Oddly enough, I didn’t say that to call you out. I really do want to know.

          • If there is a wrong end of the stick, I will grab it apparently. Oh well – there I go again.
            Mark adores his piano and plays it both often and badly, hence he was thinking of Chopin’s music.
            Communication is not an easy game, especially for sociophobes like me, but I hope all is becoming clearer now.

  3. I’ll go there with you, but only on the condition that we DON’T act like grown ups. Where’s the fun in that? There’s no point in pretending to be someone(s) that we’re not.

    Out of curiosity, what kind of wine was it? And did you like it?

    Hooray for slamiversarys. x

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