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The waiter nodded.
I went to speak but Alex kept going. “We’ll also start with a bowl of the clam chowder.”
“Oh, wait,” I said as I lifted up my hand to stop him from ordering. “I’m not a fan of clam chowder, what other soups do you have?”
“We have caramelized French onion soup, lobster bisque.”
Picking up the menu, I quickly looked at it. “I’ll take the onion soup, please.”
The waiter wrote it down, then looked back at Alex. “Do we know what we want for our main meal.”
He turned to me. “Would you mind if I ordered for us?”
I stared at him for what I was sure was an uncomfortable amount of time. The man hardly knew me yet wanted to order my meal for me. Hard. Pass.
“Actually, I do mind. If you could give me a few minutes to look at the menu.”
The waiter nodded. “No problem at all. I’ll get this put in and come back with your drinks.”
I smiled then turned to Alex when he walked off. “I’m sorry, I am not used to someone ordering for me.”
He coughed into his fist then moved in his seat uncomfortably. “No worries. I guess I thought since I know this restaurant so well you would trust my suggestions.”
“Well, for starters. I do not like oysters, not everyone loves them. And secondly, I appreciate that you’ve been here before, but I would still like to see what they have to offer and would love some suggestions from you.”
With a single head nod, he looked around the place without giving me any suggestions. I went back to reading the menu.
The waitress came back with our drinks. “Your appetizers will be out shortly. Are we ready to order?”
Alex looked at me. “Would you like to order first?”
“I’ll have the New York strip with the au poivre with courvoisier cream, medium well, please.”
“And for you, sir?”
“Yes, I’ll have the veal tomahawk chop.”
Thank God I didn’t let him order for me.
“Sides for the table?”
Alex looked at me. “Would you like a side? The lobster mac and cheese is really good.”
“That sounds good.”
“We’ll take that and the grilled asparagus.”
With another grin, the waiter said, “Great, I’ll get this in for you.”
Once she walked away, things felt different at the table. Alex seemed bothered that I hadn’t let him pick my food.
“So, why did you and the chef here break up?” I asked, setting my napkin over my lap.
He moved his drink to a different spot on the table. “We grew apart. She was making a name for herself here in Boston with her cooking, I was working long hours at the museum. We never found the time to be together. Plus, we didn’t have a lot in common.”
I nodded and took a drink of my Dirty Goose.
“Do you often drink vodka?”
