Saturday, 19 October 2019

Dinner Date


          Two men in their seventies walked into a trendy Shoreditch restaurant on a Tuesday evening. “Hi Guys,” said the hipster meeter/greeter in the spirit of modern, casual dining that makes no distinction between gender or age. The guys in question (my companion and I) did not bridle – such places are not novel to us (though we are not yet entirely comfortable with the lack of respectful address to which we feel entitled). Therefore, knowing what to expect, we set about the task of fitting in as best we could with a room full of people still racking up the second of their three score and ten.
          “How can young people afford these prices?” I said with a touch of resentment as we scanned the menu. “I thought we boomers were supposed to have all the money.” Apparently, the popular story of millennials’ straitened circumstances is exaggerated – or at least does not apply around here. So, it’s enlightening to get out and about, mingle with other social groups and expose oneself to a few myth-busting experiences. We, the older generation, can benefit from shunning the same old places with the same old faces from time-to-time. Exposure to change is a chance to broaden horizons and challenge beliefs and entrenched preconceptions, for, in the end, modernity will have its way – though we do have choices: resist change unto the end, absorb the shock of the new, or adopt a conciliatory position somewhere between the two extremes. So it was that evening; we could either have turned curmudgeonly or decided to go with the flow. We did our best to take the latter route, but with age comes experience and so we did have a few set ways to overcome.
          The menu was explained to us (hackles rose but restraint prevailed) and we listened politely to the suggestion that we should share the selection of “small plates” that were on offer. But experienced diners like us know what we want and don’t want to share it, so we ignored the (very) young waitress’s advice. Besides, diminutive portions can lead to awkwardness when it comes to allotting fair shares and awkwardness is the last thing you want to intrude on an evening of camaraderie. But we continued to keep our minds open, notwithstanding the filters of experience firmly embedded in our systems. The important thing to remember about filters, however, is that they can get clogged up and, like those on my Dyson, need periodic cleaning if they are to remain effective and prevent motor seizure.  
          Actually, the food was excellent, the wine, such as we could afford, was pretty decent and the service was attentive and the very opposite of casual. The only fault we could find was the choice of background music which, considering the majority of the clientele, was unsurprising. Yet we refrained from complaining and we had a good time – thanks in part to our open attitude. But, before I get carried away with self-congratulation, here is a stanza of verse:
When I can look life in the eyes, / Grown calm and very coldly wise, / Life will have given me the Truth, / And taken in exchange…my youth*
          They say that youth is wasted on the young and, looking around the restaurant, slightly nostalgic for my own formative years, I could only agree. Yet, having wasted my own, I bear no grudge.
          As we left the restaurant, we got a cheery “Goodnight, gents,” from the desk and were chuffed with the promotion from regular guys to revered customers. On reflection, however, the salutation might just have been code for “You’re not really our target market, guys.”
*Sara Teasdale, poet. 1884-1933.  




No comments:

Post a Comment