Slow Down, You Eat Too Fast

Typical Saturday. Wake early, read for an hour or two, zip off the dishes, run errands, get it all done before you have to be to work by 2. Don't forget to get gas, and please mail those letters! This week I needed special dog food for Sugar which necessitated a trip to the Marketplace Mall. I parked by JC Penneys because the lot there is generally less occupied, and the store is convenient to my destination (right next to their mall entrance).



By the time I got there, it was well past lunch time. I knew I had limited time to both pick up the frozen dog chow and get lunch. Head to the food court first, grab something quick, plan to eat while driving . . .



Wait. This is wrong. I deserve better than a greasy hamburg on the run. I glance around the food court. It is packed. Dozens of young girls sporting pink tee shirts are on line in almost every spot. I sigh. Babies are crying, kids running around, adults clump together talking. The noise level is loud enough to break the sound barrier.



Is there even a healthy option here? I glance around. Healthy for me is a far cry from healthy for people with normal digestion capabilities. Off in one corner, not heavily patroned, I spot a Steak and Potato counter. They also offer gyros. And fruit smoothies. Hum. That might work. I saunter over and stand gawking up at their signage.



A young man impatiently asks me what I want. I don't know yet. OK. He goes back to cooking. He asks a second time. The options are many and I am having trouble deciding. The woman running the cash register suggests a few things. Not quite right. I take my time. Three others order and are served before I am ready to order.



I step up. An older man who has been working behind the grill area steps forward. In a heavy accent, he says, "It's alright. I got it." and smiles at me. "How can I help you, young lady?" His features suggest he might actually be from Greece. I tell him what I want. He smiles. "Good choice. My favorite."



I watch him personally cook my gyro and swirl my smoothie. I pay while I am waiting. Then - surprise! He comes around the counter with a tray. Neatly folded on the side is a cloth napkin. "You come eat here. I will take good care of you." Really? He leads me to a table out of the path of the main flow of traffic, near the windows.



I sit at the table and he places the plate and glass and plasticware just so, whips the cloth napkin from the tray, shakes it out ceremoniously, and places it in my lap. "Now, you taste." I take a bite. The amazing flavors melt over my tongue - spices, dill, creamy sauce. I close my eyes and savor the amazing tastes.

"I thought so," he smiles. "You like." I invite him to join me, supposing he will decline and get back to the rapidly forming lines at his counter. But he pulls out a chair, sits down, and pulls some pictures from his pocket. "My grand daughter. My house in Greece. The place where I grew up - beautiful country."

I peruse the pictures while munching happily. For the next 20 minutes, he regales me with stories of growing up in Greece, about meals when he was a young boy, his mother in big printed aprons chattering away, his sisters fighting, his father demanding silence. He is a good story teller.

The din of the mall around us fades away. We are on a journey of delight, exploring memories and faraway places. Too soon, my delicious gyro disappears and I slurp the last bit of smoothie. I respectfully fold the napkin over my empty plate. He pushes back his chair, takes the tray, and invites me to come back anytime. He will be happy to sit with me for lunch.

It pleases him to know there are people in Rochester who are not hurrying their lives into oblivion without enjoying the trip. I half expect him to say something about preferring life in the old country, but he just disappears into the swirling crowd.

My steps back to the car are less hurried. I still make it to work on time, tucking the frozen dog food in the staff room freezer. I sit at the reference desk wrapped in the warm comfort of the pleasant repast. How delightful. I should "do lunch" more often.