Nothing is sadder than having a lover’s spat in a swish restaurant like Karel T Lounge in Village Market. Often these rubbish disagreements spring from the most inane things. Who said what and in what tone? Who wasn’t sensitive enough toward whom?
So while seated upstairs, holding the unread menus, whispering and sniggering and not trying to draw attention, the lovely and dutiful waitress, Lydia Ouma, tries to do her job professionally.
She smiles and recommends starters and mains, she tries to be present without being intrusive. She dances around the mood, around the hard stares and rolled eyes and terse conversation. She recommends a delicious bottle of wine.
Even though the table is frosty, all around the trees burn bright with light. Couples over at the pristine white couches laugh, sip drinks and flirt.
A table of three young ladies at dinner huddles around cocktails, checking their social media feeds and talking at the same time. One of them is celebrating their birthday.
At a very long corporate table full of oriental-looking men and Kenyans and a sprinkling of Indian men, a deal or a collaboration is being celebrated with food and bottles of Johnnie Walker Gold. There is toasting and speeches.
“Oh, there is a company that is all about gender inclusion,” my lady sniffs nodding at the table with only one woman. “I bet the HR is a man.” Or maybe she is the HR, I counter. It makes her chuckle. Lydia shows up, inspired by the chuckle, and asks brightly how the fish is.
The fish is marvellous, the restaurant is amazing, really, perfect for romantic dinners and celebrations. And yes, we will have another glass of wine.
When my lady comes back from powdering her nose, she says, “They have amazing washrooms, the tiling is sick!”
I have a thing for bathrooms and tiles, so I go down to the men-room and see for myself. The tiling is sick. The doors are heavy, sliding and rustic. It’s like a doorway to a place they keep artefacts. The mood livens. Sometimes a great restaurant saves the day.
