Cute

I’ve been called many things in my life. Many, many things and on a rare occasion I get called ‘cute’ or more that I have done something ‘cute’.

Last week upon arriving at my favourite café, I don’t speak ‘hospitability’ so it’s got the system where you arrive, walk past all the beautifully made and displayed “sweet things”, then the savoury. You are often prompted by a friendly face behind the counter who takes your order, you pay, shuffle along, receive a number on a small metal stand. Then you take a seat and your purchase arrives with a cheery smile. To be clear, I don’t need a number. The staff know my by name and where I sit.

Occasionally, someone doesn’t seem to know the ‘system’ and I don’t want to push in, if they are ahead of me in the queue, so I offer a prompt, if they are undecided about what to get.

Two slim gentlemen were away from the counter, so I kindly asked if they needed help to decide. They very shyly motioned they were waiting for their order to take with them.

My name was said and I looked behind the counter (on my blind side) Robert the owner was there. I thought to mention to the waiting me, this was Robert the owner when he handed out a packet of “Goodness” to them and I read the situation correctly to move on.

I politely smiled, inclined my head and moved to order, pay and find my seat.

Let me premise this next bit by saying, to the common foodie, like me, famous chefs host Masterchef and go by the names, George (Calembasis), Gary (who my chiro states, is seen out in her neighbourhood walking his dog) and Matt (Preston). The cravat king of Australia.

Once in my seat in the room before the kitchen, he stopped at my table to ask me what I had said out the front, I explained and he told me it was really cute because…

Oh? Why?

Keeping in mind, a woman once asked if the carrot cake was good. Said customer was like me, we do not eat a packet mix carrot cake. It must be moist and have cream cheese frosting with just the right amount of sugar. Just like a CWA (Country Women’s Association) would make.

Like I make or my mother. The staff member she asked at the time was new and hadn’t tried the carrot cake, so I offered my tick of approval. I didn’t just tell her it was good, because I thought it would sound trite, so I did it creatively. She seemed to appreciate my efforts, I’m certain she bought it.

So, I digress. My offer to advise was cute, because he was a famous chef.

What! Was he? He wasn’t George, Gary or Matt Preston and I don’t do ex-foodie adventures, so I didn’t know, I had to ask.

Robert mentioned several restaurants around Melbourne, he owns all of which meant little to me. I asked him to write down his name for me, he obliged.

I have some “Foodie” friends and my older sister and partner, do the “Foodie” scene in Melbourne.

Mentioning him to my Boo, my friend who once worked for Gordon Ramsay, gave me a bit of a “meh” OK? Which I took to be akin to a “whatever”, so I mentioned to another of my gay “Foodie” friends, who very promptly responded with a big smile.

Have I mentioned yet, I’m really “chill” around famous people?