One of the many things I wasn't prepared for when we first moved here was people praying in restaurants.
It's not as if it's something I had never seen before. Back in LA, at the trendiest restaurants, I'd see people praying all the time... praying that they could get a reservation, praying that they could get seated if they had one, praying that they were on "the list".
But it's different here.
Here, people clasp hands around the table, bow their heads in reverence and ask the Baby Jesus to bless their fried sampler platters and loaded potato skins. Probably not a bad idea, considering.
"Dear Lord, watch over us and deliver us from E.Coli..."
One of my parents' favorite restaurants is Mimi's Cafe, a chain of faux French bistros that just so happens to have an outlet here in Bako. Before we left on Sunday, my mother pressed a couple of gift cards into the boyfriend's hand as we said our good-byes. Last night, once he got home from work, we quickly decided neither of us were in the mood to cook, so we decided to have a rare dinner out courtesy of my parents' largesse.
When we arrived at Mimi's, it was deserted, probably because we were dining late, European-style, at 7. We were escorted to a booth in an empty dining room and we quickly made our choices and placed our order. I had a glass of wine. Because it was French and all.
Around the time our salads showed up, another party arrived and was seated at a large round table in the center of the room. It was a party of eight, an older couple and their three adult children and their significant others. Other than the bad hair, they were pretty unremarkable and I didn't really pay them much attention. Until their food was served.
Once everyone had been served, they all clasped hands and bowed their heads and the matriarch mumbled a blessing I couldn't make out. When she was done, everyone at the table offered a hearty "Amen".
And then everyone started high-fiving each other. And whooping and hollering.
It was as if the Baby Jesus had scored a touchdown.
Or, considering our French surroundings, a GOOALLLLLLLL!
Creepy doesn't even begin to describe it.
Luckily, it was around this time our bill arrived.
I was raised with the belief that religion was personal, private matter, not something you wore on your sleeve or clubbed other people over the head with. I'm guessing that idea is now considered "un-American".
In fact, it's down right French.
