Back amongst the greyhairs, one has to be on their
guard. At times, this can prove
difficult, especially when tired and hungry.
One of the few places we know and trust here is out of pizza (?!), so we
have to forge on to a secondary choice which we had received a second nod of
approval on just earlier this very evening.
As we do our about face, I am muttering not such nice words while
walking down the cobble stone street. “Mandingo? What kind of pizza could possibly be served
up in a place called ‘Mandingos’?” In a
country where nearly anything goes, it is obvious that this applies to any sort
of business too. No thought in
correlating names and goods, just call it something and serve something.
We walk in to Mandingos into an open courtyard with only
two couples occupying a few of the tables.
It is quiet, and from the looks of it, terribly slow (or,
unpopular). We stand and look around and
aside form the four patrons visible, there does not appear to actually be
anyone working in this place. My patience
is already threadbare, so I walk over to peer inside the kitchen. Nothing but
dirty pizza pans. I walk back and tell
Tonya that I don’t see anyone.
“Hey! Come sit with
us! Have some pizza,” a voice says from
a dark corner. We look to the table of
two grey hairs and their pizzas; one is raising their hand as if we were trying
to spot them amongst a huge crowd. I
smile one of those polite, forced grins and give a gesture of ‘thanks but no
thanks’. “Here, have some pizza!” the
voice bellows out. Now, instead of a
waving hand it is a hand held high with a piece of artichoke and olive pizza.
“We won’t eat all of this. You two come
site with us!” I shoot the death ray
glare to Tonya, but she brushes it off and smiles and happily approaches the
table of older women, and like a seal trained to fetch a cold fish, she reaches
out for the piece of pizza and pulls up a chair. Now we are in for it. I put another forced smile on my face and
pull up a chair. Me? I get lucky and sit next to the drunk one who
is pushy and obnoxious.
The woman to my left is drunk. She can barely keep her head out of her
hands, except for when she is trying to hand us pizza. “Here, I won’t eat it
all…you have some”. The constant
offering of artichoke pizza is getting on my nerves. I decline once again, politely. The woman
opposite me has a head full of springy, flowing grey hair and a big smile.
“It’s so nice to see someone here without grey hair” and she laughs nudging the
other drunk who bobs her head in accordance. “Hi! It’s nice to meet you, what are y’alls
names?” She says with a smile. I turn my
attention to the springy haired woman with manly hands and start in on an
introduction.
“Have a piece of pizza” the drunken lady says, putting a
piece right in front of me. I decline
again. ‘No thank you. I am going to
order a fresh one for myself. Thank you
though.”
“Why won’t you eat my pizza?” she says annoyed. Her eyes are barely open, and I don’t even
understand how she can see me. “I don’t like olives…and I don’t like
artichokes, that’s why”
“Why don’t you like artichokes?” she says. She points at the artichokes and then her
head wobbles to the side, “Look you can take off the olives…” and she starts to
remove them. I want this to end, so I
grab the piece from her to save those fingers from going all over this thing
and then being handed to me. I will save
us both the agony, I will sacrifice and I will eat a piece of the drunk’s
pizza. I smile and take a bite. “Is the service always this sh*tty here or is
it just a bad night?” I ask without hesitation.
“Oh…you have not ordered yet?” asks the drunk. Suddenly she looks around, and then clumsily
pushes her chair out, “Oh, that is horrible.
I will get someone here so you can order” and she gets up and wonders
around the courtyard and peeps into the kitchen. As she totters around the courtyard, a lanky
man comes walking out and I wave at him, and ask for a menu. It will still be a few minutes before he
makes it over. In the meantime, we
continue on with our polite introductions and brief tale of how we ended up
here.
As one would have guessed, the springy haired lady with the
man hands is an ‘artist’. Likewise, the
drunk is an artist. She says she has
taught art for over 25 years. I hope she
did so in a sober state. Perhaps it was
all this art talk which actually drove her to drink. The springy haired lady does a good job at
trying to keep the drunk in line. She
corrects her, she reminds her and she politely chides her. She keeps smiling at Tonya and me, as if to
say ‘You know I have my hands full’. Our
smiles back let her know we understand the chore she is undertaking. The waiter shows up and hands us two small
laminated menus. He quickly
disappears. I fret that this may be an
all-nighter trying to get some dinner and getting sucked into a drunken folly
with these ladies. I make up my mind in
moments as to what I want. Now if the
waiter would ever return…
As we are chatting about life here, the slender waiter
returns. “He’s from South
Africa!” the drunk with the bobbling head
proclaims. I smile. I don’t like South Africans. If he truly is from there, his crappy service
is yet another reason to add to my ongoing list of why I dislike South
Africans. Tonya and I order
immediately. I don’t want any more time
wasted. ‘I’m sorry, but we are out of
wine. We only have beers, would you like
a beer?” He asks politely. Odd.
He doesn’t sound like a South African.
“Ok, sure” and Tonya agrees as well.
He’s off and we are back to dealing with the drunk. A young hot thing walks passed the
table. She’s braless, she has long
slender legs and the cool night air works wonders with her choice of dress. She too, appears to have been boozing, as she
trips back towards our table, “Do you know where the restroom is?” she
asks. The drunk flings her arm back and
burps out, “There-behind you!” She
points the girl to the men’s room. “You just pointed her to the wrong restroom”
I say to the drunk. “Wha…? I showed her
the restroom…”she slurs back. No need to
get into semantics. I smile and try to
pay attention to the springy haired lady and her conversation. She obviously
took notice of the young hot thing too, and says, “Isn’t it nice when women are
at that age when they realize the power they have with their bodies and flaunts
it to their advantage? Did you see her
long, sexy legs? Wow, she was in full control” Perhaps, but she just locked
herself in the men’s room thanks to the misleading drunk.
The other couple at the table beside us gets up and starts
to leave. “Good night! Ya’ll have a
great evening!” yells out the drunk next to me.
Yes, this lady with the small chubby face and slits for eyes sitting
next to me is truly annoying. I think
that couple thought the same, as they grimaced as they glanced back to the
drunken hostess and said not a single word.
The old man just stands and pulls out a small flashlight and shines it
on the check.
The pizza arrives! It
looks great. Goat’s cheese, cherry
tomatoes and arugula on a nice thick round wooden platter. The waiter sets it down in front of me. I am hungry and can’t wait to eat. Tonya gets a ‘salad’ which is a ring of
tomatoes and some orange chunks on top of it, and a few pieces of basil. “What’s that?” I ask. She replies back the fancy name the salad has
been given. “No, what’s that?” I say pointing to the orange squares on the
tomatoes. “Mango”. “Does mango go with tomato and basil?” Her salad looks like a disaster. Taking a bite of my pizza, I realize that I
made a great call. For a joint called ‘Mandingos’’,
it is surprisingly good pizza. The
waiter suddenly materializes out of thin air at my side. He’s holding a wine bottle in his hands and
two champagne glasses. “I know I told you we were out of wine, but I just found
this fantastic Malbec which I think you will like very much. Would you like to
try? It will be nice with your
dinner. You do not have to take the wine
now if you do not want it, you can still have the beer” he says. I look at Tonya and she immediately says,
‘Yes, the wine is fine”. “I know you will like it” he reassures us as he pours
it into the wrong glasses. I take a sip
and it tastes good. I just wonder how
much he will hit us up for this suddenly uncovered gem when it comes time to
pay. I shant be a party pooper, so I keep my mouth shut and get on with my
pizza eating.
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