Dinner at The Dolphin

I’ve come a long way. At first, dinner with O and S seemed intimidating. The “New Age” stuff scared me. Weeks later, dinner with them is rejuvenating. Comforting.

We decided tonight to try something new. Friends of a friend were raving about this new place—The Dolphin—on Sunday, so as we passed by it on the bike, I passed along their reviews. “Excellent fish.” “Fun.” “New.”

The “new” might be the most alluring descriptive; I imagine things change very slowly here.

So we decided to try The Dolphin.

We found a table in the corner and sat, eager for delicious fish and lots of fun. Quite some time later, a young local appeared with a menu. He hardly spoke any English, but he eagerly talked about the fish. (Or tried to.) We ordered then and there a green tea—with jaguary or honey but NOT sugar—and a banana lassi.

Quite some time later, he returned to take our food order… with no tea, no lassi. We tried to order one or two things, ask some questions about two or three other items, and each time he said, “No, sorry. Not have. Next week.”

Finally, O asked, “So, what do you have?”

“Fish.”

Thank God it’s supposed to be good. “How do you prepare the fish?”

He did not understand the question, and it took a good 10 minutes to communicate what we were trying to understand. “Ah, grilled.”

“Only grilled?”

“Fried. Grilled.”

“Fried or grilled?”

“Yes. Fried. Grilled.”

“So we don’t need the menu, huh?”

“Fish. Fried. Grilled.”

Alas, we ordered grilled fish. And re-ordered the tea, and the lassi.

Some 45 minutes and several inquiries later, the waiter appeared with a beautiful English-styled teacup and pot in his hands. He proudly laid the porcelain cup in front of S… and walked away with the pot still in hand.

“Wait!” we shouted eagerly. “The tea?”

“Yes, yes. Coming.” And he proceeded to talk away.

We figured the tea was actually waiting in the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned with the teapot, this time clearly full, and placed it beside S’s empty cup.

She graciously thanked him, and he beamed with joy.

It was black tea. With sugar.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, the lassi arrived.

Thirty minutes later, the food arrived. Sans silverware. On bread plates.

We started with our fingers. (No biggie, it’s India, right?) But something about the salad and the smallest portion of French fries I’ve ever seen just felt funny. And the fish was terrible.

Hours after arrival, we finished our meal. At least the hours were filled with exciting conversation and dreams. And as we were wrapping up a bizarre evening, something caught my eye.

It was huge. Black. Quick.

It was only in my peripheral vision, so I proceeded as if it didn’t exist. I might be going crazy, after all, and didn’t want to make a fuss. Plus, I figured it was a gecko or lizard or something.

The sight interrupted my sentence for only a moment—but S caught onto that moment and interrupted me as I continued.

“Yea, I saw that too.”

“What was it?”

I described what I thought I saw, and she described what she thought she saw.

“Ah,” O said casually. “It was a rat.” Scuttering behind us. Inches from our food.

Lovely.


I can’t say the dinner was a disappointment. But it sure as hell was surreal.