A Table for One

Mia goes into a small restaurant at nine. The room is almost empty. A tired waiter in a white apron points to a table in the corner.

"Just one?" he asks. Mia says yes. She always travels alone. She is a little nervous. The menu is on one small piece of paper.

Mia points at a word. She does not know it. The waiter smiles. "The special," he says slowly. "My grandmother's food. If you do not like it, I bring something else."

The food comes in a heavy bowl. It is hot, with garlic and little pieces of bread. Mia tries it. The waiter watches her from the bar.

Mia gives him a thumbs up. He laughs and fills her glass again. "Good," he says. "Come back tomorrow. Then I tell you what is in it."