My Story

Why Dine Out?

 

Decades ago as a young man in Denmark, I accidentally discovered the magic of eating out.  I was traveling across the country with my aunt and uncle, and we had arrived in Odense early.  We were to visit friends for dinner, but somehow we arrived in town about 1 pm.  We drove by Den Gamle Kro--The Old Inn--a beautiful old restaurant going back to the 1600s--and  I blurted out  in my halting Danish, “Why don’t we just stop in?”

 

We parked and went in.

 

My aunt Olga--my mother’s twin sister--spoke no English, and she and my uncle Alfred lived in a small town in the countryside.  Now here they were in the big city--and entering a fancy restaurant. I was all of 22.

 

Back in these long-ago days, Danes rarely ate out.  Local kros (inns) were for weddings, holiday get-togethers, graduation parties.  Tourists might go, but most Danes did not.  

 

So this was an occasion of wonder for my aunt and uncle.  We were the only ones in the quietly elegant living room.  The waiter presented each of us large menus.  I suggested that we share a smørrebrød platter--traditional Danish food--herring, leverpostej (liver pate), ham, beef, cheeses with dark and white bread.   Simple--yes--but at a fancy place like Den Gamle Kro, everything was elevated: the bread baked on site, the herring marinated and aged in local herbs and spices, and the inn’s own secret ingredients.  

 

Should we have a schnapps (Akvavit) and beer while we waited?  Sure.  

 

My aunt and uncle positively vibrated with the excitement of the experience--the imminent arrival of the shared feast--perfect for a little repast before our dinner--and the sumptuous surroundings.  We were one of the few parties, and waiters circled attentively.

 

Then, suddenly, three waiters appeared, each carrying a tray.  My Danish wasn’t up to ordering, and my uncle apparently had not made clear: instead of sharing one, we each had a feast of our own! Each a little loaf of white bread and brown, each a whole assortment of herring, cheese and more!

 

Alfred started to explain the mistake--and the waiter, who had been bowing as if he had just conducted a fancy dance move and was awaiting applause, froze and began to frown.  My aunt looked stricken.  

 

“Listen--let’s just enjoy this!” I said.  “My treat.”

 

They pleaded.  I insisted.  The waiter received his applause for the fancy dance and bowed again, leaving us to take a breath.  

 

My uncle turned his head slightly, as if both physically and mentally adjusting to this situation.  Then he smiled.

 

“Skål!” he said, holding up his schnapps glass.  He looked me in the eye, nodded, caught my aunt’s eye, nodded.  And I looked my aunt in the eye and gave a gentle nod.  I can still picture the shy smile she gave me in return.

 

And we entered a feast fit for a fairy tale.  Everything was delicious, a clear notch up from the traditional food Danes ate at home.  The liver pate was creamier (touched with port?), the herring tender, the marinade livelier.  In short it was a surprising oasis in the midst of our travel that day, in the midst of our travel through life.

 

And over the years, as my aunt and uncle aged and I becameas old as they were then, we pulled up the memory of that unplanned moment.  We knew it was special--from the moment we stepped in, through the wonderful mistake and a feast for each of us, and finally as we walked out, stuffed, laughing at the ridiculous thought of eating again at the home of my aunt’s and uncle’s friends.  

 

And the years added another surprise.  Among those friends was a young woman who would grow up and marry me--and bring into the world our two children.

 

So that funny lunch has layers of memory and meaning for me.  

 

When you enter a fine restaurant a practical part of your brain might say, “I can make this at home. Why am I spending all this money?”  And if those are the questions flooding your brain, it is best to stay home--not to sap the joy of a fine meal out.  That meal all those years ago was not cheap--but its burnished glow has only increased over time making it one of the best investments I’ve made in my life.