That hassle of paying the bill in restaurants is called
Tonight I'm going out to dinner and I'm really looking forward to it. Because it's with nice people (you should only dine with people you really like) and because it's at restaurant Breda. That's the last pearl of wonderboy Freek van Noortwijk, where culinary reviewers were practically soaring with pure delight and where (if you're lucky) Katja Schuurman rocks the chef's table with all the cool incrowd types.
So there. But I already know that there will come a moment when I start to feel uncomfortable and think about forty things at once. That's when the bill is on its way. Then I think all of this at once and mixed up:
– Do I suddenly see him standing at the bar? Is he secretly paying?
– Did we pay last time or did they?
– I'm really not going to suggest splitting it. I find that so Dutch and unfriendly.
– But I believe we also paid the last two times.
– They must have forgotten. We need to drink less wine.
– No way am I going to say that. I'd rather pay again. But next time I'll just invite them over to our place.
– Would it be noticeable if I now let my credit card slide into the hand of the waiter and he just takes care of it quietly?
– If they don't accept American Express, I have a problem. There's no way I remember that other pin code.
– I hope I can tip with my card. I don't have any cash, you see.
– I need to go to an ATM tomorrow. I must have money with me, right?
– So I also don't have money for the babysitter. How much do I pay her again? She started at half past six. Let me count how many hours that is. How many hours are between half past six and half past twelve? And what did I agree on? How much is six times six?
– I find it so unchic to talk about money during such a nice evening. Can't they just send an invoice at a restaurant that I can pay tomorrow?
That hassle of paying the bill in restaurants is called
Last night I went out to dinner at one of Amsterdam’s hippest new restaurants called Breda. All culinary reviewers were
Tonight I'm going out to dinner and I'm really looking forward to it. Because it's with nice people (you should only dine with people you really like) and because it's at restaurant Breda. That's the last pearl of wonderboy Freek van Noortwijk, where culinary reviewers were practically soaring with pure delight and where (if you're lucky) Katja Schuurman rocks the chef's table with all the cool, incrowd types.
So there. But I already know that there will come a moment when I start to feel uncomfortable and think about forty things at once. That's when the bill is on its way. Then I think all of this at once and mixed up:
– Is that him at the bar? Is he secretly paying the bill?
– Did we pay last time or did they?
– I’m not going to suggest splitting it. That’s such a mood kill.
– But I’m pretty sure we paid the last two times.
– I’m sure they forgot. We need to start drinking less wine.
– No way am I going to bring it up. I’d rather just pay again. But next time I’ll just invite them over to our place.
– But what would I make? I’m not good at cooking for people at home.
– Do you think they’d notice me subtly handing the waiter my credit card so that he’ll take care of it?
– If they don’t accept American Express then I’ve got a problem. I don’t know if I even remember the pin code.
– I hope I can use my card to add the tip too. I don’t have any cash in my wallet.
– I need to go to an ATM tomorrow. Why do I never carry around any cash?
– So now I don’t have any cash for the babysitter either. How much am I supposed to pay her again? She started at six thirty. Let me count how many hours that is. How many hours are between six thirty and twelve thirty? And how much did I tell her I would pay her per hour? How much is six times six?
– I don’t think it’s chic to talk about money on a night like this. Why can’t the restaurant just send me an invoice and I can pay them tomorrow?
