Dessert

A few days ago, Nazy and I decided to walk to town for dessert. The carefully negotiated expedition was organized so that the calories consumed by eating would be completely offset by the calories expended getting there. (Given what we were each likely to choose, I would have to sprint home while Nazy took the tram.) We discussed alternatives for a venue whilst en route.

“We could have ice cream at Movenpick,” I said.

“You’ll get pistachio, Dan.”

“I like pistachio…”

“You are so predictable.”

“We could go to Globus, Nazy.” I replied. “And, speaking of predictable, you’ll get a salad,” I thought.

“I don’t want a salad,” Nazy said. “What about Felix?”

“Felix?”

“It’s new. My friends say that they have wonderful cheesecake.”

“Well then, Felix sounds like an excellent suggestion. I haven’t had a nice piece of cheesecake since I was in New York.”

“I thought you had cottage cheese in New York,” Nazy replied.

“That’s what I meant,” I said. “But not for dessert,” I thought.

Our waiter was a loquacious Spaniard. Nazy started the conversation by asking if he was happy working at Felix.

“It’s a great job,” he replied. “People talk to me and I can practice my English. In fact, English is my best language.”

“Better than Spanish?” I asked.

“My parents are Spanish, but I don’t talk very much with them. What would you like for dessert?”

“I’ll have a cheesecake,” I replied. And to simplify things, I also pointed to my selection in the showcase.

“That’s not cheesecake.” Jose Juan replied. “It’s Quark™”.

“A quark is a sub-atomic particle,” I thought. I was disappointed.

“I can get you a cheesecake from the kitchen.”

“That’s great.” I replied.

“Und ein kugel coffee glace,” Nazy ordered– showing off.

Several minutes later, Jose Juan showed up with, eh..

“What do you think this is, Nazy?” My ‘cheesecake’ was warm and smelled cheesy.

“It’s a quiche, Dan.” Nazy replied.

“And English is his best subject.” I replied. “What do you have?”

“I ordered one scoop of coffee ice cream and he brought some kind of parfait with green ice cream…”

“I’ll help you eat that..”

“… and a pile of whipped cream taller than the Matterhorn.”

“You shouldn’t have used German. In fact, imagine what would have happened if we had tried to order in Spanish. I’ll just ask him for a Quark.”

It was a good move. Quark tasted like cheesecake with raspberry sauce. Nazy scraped the whipped cream to the side and we took the quiche home for later