Today, I got to pick the restaurant. I chose one that’s always bustling on the weekends, even when there isn’t a wedding reception being hosted, named after the Yangtze River in China. There was a mixture of language in the air, due to the fact that I was surrounded by large Chinese families, catching up on each others lives, and young Caucasian couples, on their Friday night dates. The families were all familiar. I could relate to every young boy in them, trying to finish his deep fried crab claw balls while concentrating on the game in his GameBoy. The couples…
I thought about the time we walked around those long, sterile aisles that only you could take me to. There were small plants of basil next to a miscellaneous food item sample stand, and it was my first time smelling the aroma of a live stalk. What a drastic difference it was from the basil I bought in a container, or labelled as “FRESH” when they were ripped from the roots before transportation.
“For some reason, I feel like steak”.
Someone from another couple overheard and couldn’t help laughing.
“I know exactly what you mean”, the man jovially said.
We looked for a steakhouse afterward. On the highway, I asked for a suggestion. Your knowledge of the local restaurants was always wider than mine. I gave reasons against your first two proposals, and you refused to continue, frustrated. I thought about the time we tried to find a game we could both get into, and you rejected the first eight. How difficult it was to not kick that Gamecube into the wall, and yet I didn’t say a word, something I could only control because of how much I still cared at that point. I put my foot down to make a decision (much better than the alternative), and we set off for a teppanyaki steakhouse.
It was a place that I saved for celebrations. We were seated alone at a table usually reserved for eight, along with a lone performer, twirling his knife and flipping his flipper. A celebration of us we agreed.
And I decided that those couples around me weren’t so unfamiliar either.