Things aren’t always what they seem.
On the same evening I had to deal with chicken shish inflation, I also had a confrontation with cookies that weren’t.
The cookies in question resided on a tray between baklava–to the left–and rice pudding–to the right. I thought they were cookies because they looked like cookies–small, round, resembling cookies I had in Istanbul. Those had almonds on top while these had walnuts, one per cookie. And the menu listed them under desserts: semolina cookies soaked in syrup. Since I had loved semolina cookies in Istanbul, I thought it was reasonable to assume I would love semolina cookies here.
Wrong! Their intense sweetness repelled me.
It is rare that I desert a dessert, so I told the waitress, “Too sweet for me. Is it possible to get the cookies without the syrup?”
She said, “These are not cookies. No. Most definitely not.” She went on to explain that the syrup soaked the semolina cookies from the inside, so they couldn’t be served without.
I wondered how she could say that they weren’t cookies in one sentence and then refer to them as cookies in the next.
Perhaps there’s something in the air.
A few days later I called the operator to find out if someone’s phone number was in my local calling area. Back in the winter, I had assumed another number was local, but when I got my phone bill, I was charged $16 for a 15 minute call. I had a long talk with my phone company about that, and the man said, “Next time, check with the operator.”
I was trying to do the right thing. But first I had the brutal discovery that the nice operator voice saying, “Hello, this is so and so, may I help you?” had been replaced by a recording to call my telephone company. When I called the phone company, the staff person said twice that she had entered the new number in her computer, which said it was indeed in my local calling area. I said, “Just out of curiosity, where is it? I don’t know that prefix.” She said, “I entered it in my computer, which said it is a long distance call for you.”
It was a lot to handle.
But I am managing.
Thankfully, my cupboard is stocked with cookies for such occasions.
Actually, they are not cookies.
Most definitely not.