Nicoise Salad, photo by WordRidden
About a year ago, I attempted to order a Salad Niçoise at the upscale Brompton Quarter Café & Restaurant in London’s affluent Knightsbridge neighborhood. What was expected to be a calm, relaxing lunchtime experience soon transformed into a battle of food knowledge rivaled only by the Cheese Steak Shop American/Provolone Argument of 2003. Here’s how it all went down…
I arrived at the scene of the culinary crime accompanied by three dining companions. We were promptly seated. After ordering our beverages, I perused the menu and decided upon a Salad Niçoise for lunch. For those not familiar, the Niçoise is a pleasant salad originating from the South of France, traditionally containing lettuce, tomatoes, boiled potatoes, green beans, boiled eggs, fish (usually poached or seared tuna), anchovies, and…wait for it… Niçoise olives.
The waitress came over to take our order. When it came to my turn, I politely stated, “I’ll have the salad Niçoise, please.” The waitress, soon to become my arch nemesis, took the order, took the menus, and returned to the kitchen or the dark hole from whence she came.
And then, as Kurt Vonnegut writes, the excrement hit the air conditioning...
