5th September 2010
Now a wedding by the pristine sands is all well and good. But when the said pristine sands are 112 kilometres away from the closest set of parents and only 1/8th of the planning party of 8 understands the local language, things can lean a bit to the hairy side.
So in flew the in-laws-to-be and the cousin in-laws-to-be. The flesh and blood were meeting them only for the second time. There was much to discuss and no clear sign of where to begin. Everything was on the table: guest lists, wedding ceremonies, which side had covered what expenses in weddings past.
We decided to begin at the basics. Wedding = people = food. And what better people to provide the food than the kindhearted hoteliers who seemed to be bending over backwards to help with the wedding!
So sunday morning found us all at The Hotel sipping the inexhaustible proffered glasses of freshly squeezed orange/guava/watermelon/whatelsehaveyougot juice in a porch cooled by a dozen men on their knees fanning us with silken hand fans while we nibbled on dainty pieces of sublimate-on-tongue.
Okay so I'm making up the kneeling men, but you get my point.
We girded up our creative loins, and with the help of the helpful Chef (who insisted on keeping his hat on the whole three hours) we came up with a menu which in our smug eyes was as tasteful in its restraint as it was lavish in its appeal. Chef nodded approvingly from under his sage toque blanche, which by now we knew meant he was a man of taste and stature. A good 12 extra inches of stature.
We were happy. Chef was happy. The manager looked suspiciously happy too. We really should’ve got it then.
In went the manager and while we were barely half way through patting each other on the back, back he sprang with the all important numbers. Our ‘much restrained’ menu amounted to the steeper side of a four-figure bill per person per meal. Water and drinks would be extra, as he was sure we understood.
The freshly squeezed orange juice in my hand didn’t taste quite as nice anymore. How could a meal for a person cost more than a room for two at the same place! It looked like our hotel was all set to fleece us for main course and serve up our innards for dessert.
We needed an urgent plan B.
Now a wedding by the pristine sands is all well and good. But when the said pristine sands are 112 kilometres away from the closest set of parents and only 1/8th of the planning party of 8 understands the local language, things can lean a bit to the hairy side.
So in flew the in-laws-to-be and the cousin in-laws-to-be. The flesh and blood were meeting them only for the second time. There was much to discuss and no clear sign of where to begin. Everything was on the table: guest lists, wedding ceremonies, which side had covered what expenses in weddings past.
We decided to begin at the basics. Wedding = people = food. And what better people to provide the food than the kindhearted hoteliers who seemed to be bending over backwards to help with the wedding!
So sunday morning found us all at The Hotel sipping the inexhaustible proffered glasses of freshly squeezed orange/guava/watermelon/whatelsehaveyougot juice in a porch cooled by a dozen men on their knees fanning us with silken hand fans while we nibbled on dainty pieces of sublimate-on-tongue.
Okay so I'm making up the kneeling men, but you get my point.
We girded up our creative loins, and with the help of the helpful Chef (who insisted on keeping his hat on the whole three hours) we came up with a menu which in our smug eyes was as tasteful in its restraint as it was lavish in its appeal. Chef nodded approvingly from under his sage toque blanche, which by now we knew meant he was a man of taste and stature. A good 12 extra inches of stature.
We were happy. Chef was happy. The manager looked suspiciously happy too. We really should’ve got it then.
In went the manager and while we were barely half way through patting each other on the back, back he sprang with the all important numbers. Our ‘much restrained’ menu amounted to the steeper side of a four-figure bill per person per meal. Water and drinks would be extra, as he was sure we understood.
The freshly squeezed orange juice in my hand didn’t taste quite as nice anymore. How could a meal for a person cost more than a room for two at the same place! It looked like our hotel was all set to fleece us for main course and serve up our innards for dessert.
We needed an urgent plan B.
1 comment:
loving it
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