Eating Out European-Style

My Hungarian roommate, Krisztina, invited me to go out to eat with some friends of hers. She, Gyorgyi, and I are wandering around St. Albans trying to find the restaurant. They can't remember the name of the place or where it is. This could be a long night, I think.

"Hey, Alicia," Krisztina says. "There's the gym I'm a member of. Fitness First." Ah, good, at least now I know where a gym is. I miss working out.

We walk some more with our arms crossed, trying to stay warm as the night gets cooler. We go into a shopping centre area and look at some of the restaurants. "I'll know it when I see it," Georgie says, as if that narrows it down.

Anyway, we finally find the place. It's a Moroccan place, intricately decorated with Middle Eastern/Arabian-looking art, wallpaper, and maroon curtains with gold tassels. The atmosphere is exotically beautiful. We take our table and wait for the other three people to join us.

And we wait.

I'm getting hungry, and it's already an hour after we were supposed to meet at the restaurant. I say, "I think we should just order."

"No, we can't do that," says Krisztina. Gyorgyi agrees with her.

Why the hell not? I think. I'm thinking about how I have to get up at 6 in the morning for work. But my two Hungarian friends aren't fazed. They're perfectly fine waiting. I decide not to push the issue. I don't want to be the pushy American.

Finally, their friends show up and sit down. One Hungarian girl, a Frenchman, and a Mongolian girl have now joined the table of two Hungarian girls and an American girl at a Moroccan restaurant. They don't apologize for being late. I'm so hungry and impatient, it's not even funny. But everyone is all smiles and casual about it, so I don't say anything.

The service is S-L-O-O-O-W. The food takes forever, but I've heard that's normal in Europe. And again, no one else seemed to notice, so I didn't mention it. Apparently, when Europeans go out to eat, they don't fuck around. You get an appetizer, entrees, and dessert with tea! We have a three course meal, waiting a long time in between them for the service.

I'm concerned about the growing bill and the late hour. Yet, everyone is calm, conversing happily. I pretend to be calm and happy, too. I really do like all of Krisztina's friends, but I'm beyond tired, and I'm ready to go home.

Finally, at 11:00, when the restaurant is closing, my companions decide they are ready. One of the Hungarians paid the bill, then we all fished around in our wallets for cash to reimburse her. It takes forever, because people have bills that are too large while other people don't seem to have enough cash at all. This is stupid, I think. Why didn't we just get separate checks?

I've learned that that's just not done here. You get one check. Someone pays it, then everyone else pays that person back. I've also learned that in bars, friends will take turns buying each other rounds of drinks, rather than everyone just getting their own. I don't like that. I'd rather spend my money on me. If someone wants to buy me a drink, fine. But don't expect me to buy one for you.

I'm an American. I don't like to deal with bullshit. I don't like to waste time.

Whatever. I'll go with the flow here, as I've been doing all night. Even though inside, I'm screaming because it took four hours to go out to eat, and now I'm going to be useless at work tomorrow.

But you know what they say: when in England, do as the Hungarians do.

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