Fancy Ketchup

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Tuesday, our last day in Vienna, was kind of a wash. We visited the Czech Consulate to see about Ava’s visa and bought train tickets for the ride home. Mom decided she wanted to take the train instead of the bus, and I didn’t argue because I love trains. When we finished handling these business items, it was late afternoon. Mom and Ava wanted to rest, but I was dead set against it. It was our last night in Vienna and I was going to force all three of us to have some fun! We caught the subway to Hero’s Square and did some window-shopping. We bought some post cards and various items and had a leisurely stroll around this beautiful area. I also was successful in getting us hopelessly lost. We were really hungry and saw a place with photos of their dishes and prices outside for people to see. I saw fish and chips for a reasonable price and decided that it was worth a try.



When we walked in, we noticed that people were sitting very close together. We were sat in between two sets of ladies. One looked to be a mother-daughter pair and the other looked to be two old friends enjoying a few classes of wine. If we had wanted to borrow the salt from their tables, we could have reached over and grabbed it without much effort. That’s how close we were. It’s times like these when I am glad that I don’t understand Czech. I really hate listening to other people’s conversations while I am trying to have one myself (one of my pet peeves).

The waiter came and we ordered without too much trouble, regardless of the fact that they did not have an English menu. He brought out the food a while later. Both mom and I had a massive amount of French fries on our plates. My fish and chips appeared to be more chips and fish. There were only a few miniscule pieces of fish, half of which I gave to Ava. When I gave her a handful of fries, she immediately asked, “Where is the ketchup?” She had a point. The typical bottle one finds at an American restaurant was missing. We called the waiter over and asked for ketchup. “One?” he asked. We nodded, assuming that he meant to bring one bottle.

The waiter returned a few minutes later with a small packet of ketchup. He placed it on the table and walked away. My mom and I looked the little packet that had placed on the pretty saucer and burst out laughing. What were we supposed to do with that little packet? Apparently, he didn’t know Ava very well, who was quite upset at the lack of ketchup on her plate. I took a small amount and gave the rest to Ava. Of course, like any American child, she decimated the packet in no time. She looked up at me and said, “I can’t stand not having ketchup! Where is the guy? I need more than this.” She proceeded to hunt the waiter down and ask him for more ketchup. He came to the table to double-check that it was ok to bring one more ketchup. We nodded just like before and yet another saucer bearing one packet was brought. We were really giggling by this time and talking about how various friends would react to this situation.

When the waiter brought the bill, we saw that we were charged for each packet of ketchup. We had figured this was the case, and it caused us to laugh all the more. The lesson here is that anything brought on a saucer, plate, or platter is not free in Vienna.

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