Poached dishwasher
We’re sitting outside a café in the centre of town. This is supposed to be a quality family moment after picking our son up from school (no rush hour, no traffic, just ice cream and coffee in the sun. Ah, Sicily…) Our three year old has his nose stuck in his father’s phone playing video games and my husband is meeting and greeting in restaurateur capacity, (the same suppliers, loafers and wise boys frequent this café by day as our restaurant by night) reducing me to arm candy. One guy greets my husband with two kisses on the cheek. After all this time it still reminds me of The Godfather, still gives me the chills. I don't know this guy. He talks most deferentially to my husband seeking his advice on an array of matters related to restaurant management and in particular the question of suolo publico or pavement space for the all-important chairs and tables outside. I could give the guy loads of advice but he isn't seeking mine. Pay the council rates for it, organise it ...