A sixth sense told me there was something fishy going on.
The female customer at the bar disappeared into the kitchen to emerge a few moments later holding a napkin around what looked like a doughnut. By the way she gingerly picked at it with her teeth I could tell it was hot… fresh from the frying pan.
I knew that my calamari romana was being deep fried at that very moment. There was nobody else in the dining area and she had emerged from the kitchen with a hot, battered ring of something.
It all added up. That was part of my order she was munching on. She’d stolen my calamari. Or, as the presence of the napkin suggested, had been given one of my squid rings by an accomplice behind the scenes.
Except the golden ring seemed far too big to be calamari.
But, sure enough, a few moments later the waitress emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate with huge calamari rings. The bar snacker WAS munching on my squid.
I was outraged at the culinary crime.
I pondered how I was going to deal with this audacious act as I tucked into the tender, tasty rings. They were good, in fact they were great – which made me resent the theft even more.
By about the fourth ring my outrage started to abate. I was filling up.
A combination of a mountain of pungent cheese pate, spicy mojos and bread plus the oversized rings had me struggling to clear my plate.
Another big calamari ring would have been too much.
The calamari thief had done me a favour.
I do not believe for one second that was her intention.