Friday,February 28, 2003

By Rick Ryckeley
Fayette County Fire & Emergency Services

Last weekend The Wife and I were invited out to dinner by one of my closest friends. Now I know it will come as a surprise to some of you that I have a friend, much less close ones who don't mind being seen out in public with me, but don't worry. I think they really just wanting to spend time with The Wife.

In getting ready for the evening, it was very apparent that it's much easer for men to get ready for a night on the town than women. The Wife told me to call our friends and ask whether the dress was casual, semi-formal, or formal. I told her that it didn't matter; I wasn't gonna wear a dress no matter what they said. She just handed me the phone and told me to start dialing; this was at ten in the morning.

By eleven, The Wife was at the haircutters getting a new hair style for the evening. What little hair I have left looked just fine so I stayed home and cleaned the house to help out, me being the wonderful husband that I am. I'm only allowed to clean bathrooms, dust, and vacuum now. After the incident that caused everyone to end up with pink underwear, The Wife won't let me do laundry anymore.

By one o'clock she phoned and said she was going to buy shoes so she would have new ones for dinner. I told her we were gonna eat at the new Japanese-American- sushi place, but I don't think shoes are on the menu. About that time, her cell phone went dead. It's been doing that a lot lately.

At two o'clock I called my friend and asked what time we needed to be at the restaurant. He said, "I have to call you back when my wife gets home, she made the reservations. She just ran out of the house saying, 'I'm so desperately passed due for a hair cut.' These are words that no guy has ever said." I agreed with him that no real man would say such a thing. Then I hung up the phone and went back to dusting the house.

The Wife called at three o'clock to let me know she was on her way home. I told her that the house was clean, and I was starting a load of laundry. Ya know, cell phones sure are tricky things; about that time hers again went dead. Guess we need to look into getting a new one with better coverage.

We made it to the restaurant by six-thirty and met our friends. It's funny how everyone looks at you when you walk in with your friend The Health Inspector. We were shown to one of those long tables where the chef cooks the food in front of you. As we took our seats my friend asked, "Does anyone want an appetizer like shrimp, sushi, or baby octopus?"

I asked him how he knew that they served baby octopus, thinking that maybe he had some insight, being The Health Inspector and all. My friend just answered, "Well, you know, it's kinda hard not to see those little suckers in the kitchen."

"Okay, rule number one," I said. "You can't be funnier than your dinner guest." Then the cook came out throwing knives and spatulas in the air. He twirled salt and pepper shakers around his back, while he cut up the meat and chicken. Food was flying all over the place and somehow wound up neatly on plates in front of each of us. There was a pause in the food acrobatics when the chef asked me if I knew what it was called when he did this: He rolled two eggs across the grill. I told him I didn't know what it was called. The Japanese-American-sushi chef then replied, "This is Japanese egg roll."

"Okay, rule number two," I said. "Japanese-American-sushi chefs can't be funnier than the dinner guest." He just smiled and kept throwing food in the air. He cut the tails off the shrimp and flipped them on top of his hat.

Then he put little cups in front of us saying, "White sauce good for everything, red sauce good for steak." (I got news for him; I took some of that white sauce home it ain't good on left over lunch pizza you eat the next day for breakfast.)

After our two-hour meal the owner came over with the checks to make sure everything was okay. He said, "Here we cultivate the slow-dining experience." I asked him what exactly that meant in English. He replied, "That's the Japanese way of saying sorry for the slow service, it was very busy night."

"Okay, rule number three," I said. "Japanese-American-sushi-owner can't be funnier than the dinner guest."

The evening ended with a tasteful trip the ice cream parlor. Yes, The Wife is still going strong on her Boston ice cream and doughnut diet; she's never been happier, but what happened at the ice cream parlor is a story for another time.

You know, my brothers and I always got into a lot of trouble playing with our food at dinnertime. And to think, all we had to say to Mom and Dad was that we were in training to become Japanese-American-sushi chefs. Just hope The Boy doesn't read this.

[Rick Ryckeley is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and Emergency Services. He can be reached at firemanr@bellsouth.net.]

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