Madam PMS treated us to a fancy treat in a posh restaurant. Fancy everything, including price.
We entered in a straight line and everyone took their seats in order but somehow, even though Tandoori was nowhere near me when we queued, we ended up sitting beside each other. I was highly suspicious but she flipped the menu on the table nonchalantly.
I did the same.
Well, perhaps ‘nonchalant’ was the wrong adjective because she was poking my sides half the time and whispering to me with a coarse voice ‘you have to try this!’ I flipped the menu nonchalantly half the time not knowing what I’m looking at. True to her Fschoold class, she seemed to know exactly what she was looking at so I had to trust her recommendations.
She gasped, in a controlled way, like a kid standing before the world’s most awesome rollercoaster ride except she’s too shy to gasp loudly because there are too many people. “You must try this!” Her finger pressed hardly against the words ‘Wagyu beef steak’.
I frowned, not knowing to feel embarrassed by her actions or eager to know what she was raving about.
We each made our order – Madam PMS claimed it was okay because her family runs a gold mine. Silence overcast the table. It was a joke by the way; the first and last we ever heard from our beloved teacher and none of us knew how to react. So I took the honours to break the silence with some idle chatter till our meals came.
Tandoori and I ordered the same while others were a different variety, each with their own preference. Whatever ‘wagyu’ is, it looks just like beef to me. I couldn’t understand the underlying hype of Tandoori’s excitement; not until I experienced a piece in my mouth.
The beef melted.
Even as I began chewing, half the meat already melted into my tounge, the taste tightly locked themselves in my taste buds.
“Holy … cow.”
“Holy beef you mean?” She poked my sides again. “Nice right?”
“Right, right, right, right right?” She grinned.