The Cedar Room

“What’s the soup tonight?”

“We have a French onion soup or a Cream of Butternut Squash with roasted vegetable chips”

“Right, have you no minestrone?”

“Not tonight.”

“Ok, I’ll have the paté”

“Great, for main course?”

“What’s the fish?

(Please note that he has the menu in his hands, and has done for the last 30 minutes as he couldn’t decide)

“We have a seared Tuna steak with sautéed vegetables and a Fillet of Sea Trout on a gratin of leek and potato”

“Right.  No Lemon Sole by any chance?”

“Not tonight sir, tonight we have Tuna or Sea Trout”

“Yeah, but I had Tuna for lunch and I don’t like Sea Trout”

“Ok.”

“Are you sure you’ve no Lemon Sole?”

“Positive, how about the Veal or the Pheasant?”

“Sure they’re the same thing.”

“Er…”

“No, I’ll have the chicken then.”

“Chicken it is.  Have you chosen a wine?”

“Not much of a wine person, do you have beer?”

“We do, the list is on the next page.  Take a quick look and I’ll go order your food.”

(I go away and order the food from the chef who finds it all hilarious.  We’ll see about that.  Meanwhile, back at the table)

“So, what can I get you to drink?”

“Budweiser”

“We don’t have Budweiser”

“Oh no”

“No, we have Heineken on draught or we have Miller, Corona or Carlsberg in bottles”

“Have you Budweiser? I’d have one of them instead I suppose”

“No, we have Heineken on draught or we have Miller, Corona or Carlsberg in bottles”

“Right, I’ll have a Finches Lemon”

(A fucking what?  How random, specific and just to cunt me off is that?)

“No problem”

(Off I went and got him a Club Lemon, vintage 2009 – he loves it.  I bring him his paté)

“Here you are sir, the duck liver paté”

“Oh, it’s Duck liver?”

“That’s right, as stated on the menu”

“Oh I didn’t pay attention to the menu”

(No shit)

“Would you like something different?”

“No I’ll try it, I’m usually allergic to Duck Liver paté, it’s the garlic in it”

“Er…”

“We’ll see how I get on”

“Enjoy”

“Oh, and the herb crust on the chicken, can you leave that off?”

“I sure can, I’ll tell the chef”

“Great, I’m a cealiac so I can’t have the crust bit.”

“Oh then I’ll take the melba toast back from the paté”

“No, I can have that, it’s fine”

“Er….”

“Thanks, just make sure there’s no herb crust on the chicken”

“Will do”

(Back into the kitchen where the chef is now calling his mates to tell them about the fuckwit I’m dealing with.  Fast forward to the main course and it came with no herb crust as per his allergy, but he asked for some of our freshly baked crusty white bread to mop up the sauce with.  It didn’t affect his allergy funnily enough.  Plates cleared and I head out to take his dessert order as the chef is starting a pool to see when I’ll stab this cunt nugget with a bottle of Finches.)

“So would you like to see a dessert menu?”

“No need, I know what I want”

(I’ll bet you do)

“What’ll it be?”

“The trifle”

“Sir, we don’t offer trifle”

“You always do”

“Maybe at one time, but not tonight”

“Well I remember the trifle and I don’t remember you”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but we don’t offer trifle”

“Fine, the apple tart then”

(Sigh)

“We don’t offer that either”

“What’s going on with this place altogether?”

“Sir?”

“No minestrone, no lemon sole, no Budweiser, no trifle or no apple tart.  It’s like you don’t want me to come back at all”

(Fuck, he’s in my mind)

“I’m sorry but I don’t understand what you mean”

“Get me the manager, get me Patricia”

“Er….”

“Patricia, get me Patricia”

“We don’t have a Patricia here”

“WHAT?!”

“Sir, I think you may have us confused with a different restaurant”

“Nonsense, I’ve been coming to the Cedar Room for years”

“Well, tonight The Cedar Room may be missing you”

(Although I’d seriously fucking bet against it)

“I couldn’t be in the wrong place, where am I?”

(About 200 clicks past Kansas, you fucking whack number)

“You’re in The Servants Quarters”

“Never heard of it”

“Would you like the bill now?”

“Yes, yes please and could you call me a taxi?”

“Certainly, where are you going to?”

“Home, sorry, Sligo”

“Sligo?”

“Yes, Sligo town.  Why”

“You’re in Westmeath”

(Cue a look that would be perfectly justified if I had just broken into his house on Christmas morning and tea bagged his children.  Then he looked confused with a little shame)

“That’s not right”

“I’ll be back with the bill”

(The chefs are now huddled around the porthole window in the kitchen door watching all of this, and just as fate and great timing would have it, his mobile phone rang)

“Hello?  Sadie?  I don’t know where I am.  It’s not my fault I thought it I was going to The Cedar Room as always.  I waited for you, but you took so long I went ahead without you.  It’s been how long?  Oh, hang on”

(He motions for me and hands me the phone)

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m awfully sorry but this is a little embarrassing.  The man in your restaurant is my Father and his memory isn’t the best.  He thinks he’s there to meet my mother”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed he just made a mistake and came to the wrong restaurant.”

“My mother died 7 years ago”

“Er….”

“He’s been slowly getting worse for the last few months now.  I’ll be there as quick as I can to pick him up and I’ll settle the bill when I get there.”

“No problem”

To pass the next hour and 45 minutes I gave him Heineken and told him it was Budweiser and we all felt so guilty that the chef made him a mini trifle.  He never touched it.  Instead he got glassy eyed as he told me stories of how he met his wife in The Cedar Room and hasn’t been as lonely in his life as he is right now.

He is fully aware that his mind is failing him and he feels useless and ashamed when he comes around from not knowing where he was.

I wrapped his trifle up and put him into his daughters car.  I wouldn’t take any money off her, instead I used the money that the chefs had pooled for their bet to settle his bill.  Not one of them protested against it either.

We all had him pegged as another pain in the hole codger, when he didn’t even know where he was.

We all of course felt like giant turds and the guilt will be with us for a while, but it’s nothing compared to what he and his family are going through or have ahead of them.

According to his daughter The Cedar Room is now a DVD shop.  Whenever he goes in to rent old movies, he points at the documentary section and says:

“That’s where I shared a trifle with your mother”