Special of the Day

Somewhat self-conscious, Ambrose studied the menu. Wonder why there are no other customers? he mused. Then he remembered, it was Halloween. Everybody was out trick or treating.

"What is your selection, Sir?"

Ambrose started, not having heard the man approach his table. "I'll have the Chicken Francais."

The waiter's frown was regretful. "I'm sorry, Sir, we're out of that particular dish. Might I recommend the day's special - we have a very nice 'Chef's Surprise', that we serve only during this season."

"What is it?"

"What is what, Sir?"

"The Chef's Surprise."

"Well now, Sir, that's the surprise."

Seeing the conversation was going nowhere, and since he didn't have a lot of time, Ambrose conceded. "Bring me the surprise, as long as it can be served right away."

"Excellent choice, Sir. I'll have it right out for you."

In less than five minutes the waiter was back bearing a tureen of dark brown stew, from which arose a tantalizing aroma of thyme, rosemary, and other pungent herbs. Deciding he was fortunate in finding such an excellent place in which to dine, Ambrose scooped a heaping spoonful onto his plate.

The meat was the most succulent and tender Ambrose had ever tasted, the gravy a rich deep brown, appearing almost red in the fluttering candlelight. I must ask whether the chef will part with the recipe, he decided.

With his next greedy mouthful, Ambrose's tongue encountered something sharp and crunchy. Thinking it to be a piece of bone, he spit it back onto his spoon.

"Good grief," he spluttered.

"Is something wrong, Sir?" Startled again, Ambrose dropped his spoon onto his plate, spattering gravy every which way."

"There - There's a finger nail in the stew!"

"A finger nail, Sir? Oh, I do apologize. I'll bring you another portion right away."

"No, just bring the check."

"But I must correct the error, Sir. Chef insists that all our customers get the entire digit with their meal."

© 2004 Margaret B. Davidson