A Table for One

Mia walked into the small restaurant just before nine. The dining room was almost empty. A waiter with a white apron and tired eyes pointed at a corner table.

Mia je ušla u mali restoran malo prije devet. Blagovaonica je bila skoro prazna. Konobar s bijelom pregačom i umornim očima pokazao je na stol u kutu.

"Just one?" he asked. Mia nodded. She always traveled alone, and she always felt a little nervous ordering in a new language. The menu was on a single sheet of paper, handwritten.

"Samo jedna osoba?" upitao je. Mia je kimnula. Uvijek je putovala sama i uvijek se osjećala malo nervozno kad je naručivala na novom jeziku. Jelovnik je bio na jednom listu papira, pisan rukom.

She pointed at a word she did not understand. The waiter smiled for the first time. "Is the special of the day," he said in slow English. "My grandmother's recipe. Try it. If you don't like it, I bring something else."

Pokazala je na riječ koju nije razumjela. Konobar se nasmijao prvi put. "To je današnja specijalnost," rekao je sporim engleskim. "Recept moje bake. Probajte. Ako vam se ne svidi, donijet ću nešto drugo."

The food arrived in a heavy clay bowl. Hot, garlicky, full of small pieces of bread. Mia took a careful first spoonful and looked up. The waiter was watching from the bar with his arms crossed.

Hrana je stigla u teškoj glinskoj zdjeli. Vruća, s okusom češnjaka, puna malih komadića kruha. Mia je pažljivo uzela prvu žlicu i podigla pogled. Konobar ju je promatrao s bara, prekriženih ruku.

She gave him a thumbs up. He laughed, walked over, and refilled her glass. "Good," he said. "Tomorrow you come back and I tell you what's in it."

Pokazala mu je palac prema gore. Nasmijao se, prišao joj i napunio čašu. "Dobro," rekao je. "Sutra se vratite pa ću vam reći što je u tome."