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literarymusings-blog1 · 8 years ago

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Dinner with Locals at Lokal

It was the fourth and final day of my excursion. I’d been cooped up in the claustrophobic Venetian streets for far too long and needed an escape. Prague had been the best bet. It had beer, actual streets, and friends from home.

I’d spent the better part of the past four days eating. My heart and asshole both had been pumping gulash continually. But tonight I was determined, I would eat and drink past my hearts content. I would enter a realm reserved for the finest of meals, after which you’re so full, you moan on someone’s couch and regret all your life’s decisions.

I’d read about Lokal, on Vice (that’s how all yuppies get their information in foreign cities) and decided it deemed worthy of a last supper. I wanted to go alone as I ventured forth on my crusade to wreck my self without checking myself. But the instant I arrived I realized my crucial mistake: no one eats out alone. I, alone, was placed at a table made for six.

Not allowing a little awkwardness to subdue my cravings of obliterating my cholesterol levels, I flagged down the waiter. As per Czech tradition, I ordered half a liter of beer before even glancing at the menu. I sipped at the frothy beer as I perused a menu consisting of various combinations of the ways you can cook potatoes, pork, and cabbage.

Now, for reference, I had walked through the doors of Lokal full. I’m talking, literally ate a full meal an hour before I came full. But this did not deter me from ordering homemade sausages with a sea of mustard and horseradish as an appetizer followed by a deep plate of goulash with a side of eight bread dumplings (for the uninformed, bread dumplings are just bread but condensed so that they expand in your stomach so as to cause horrible discomfort).

I polished of the first half liter of beer the second those beautiful sausages hit the table. They were not like the sissy things we call sausages in the States. These babies were as long as my forearm. Shortly after the sausages arrival to my calorie party, the second half liter of beer was slapped down next to me.

I reveled in the glory of the sausages, eating all of them and wiping the leftover mustard and horseradish up with bread chunks. By the last bite, I could feel a slight doubt in my stomach.

“You don’t need more food!” it said.

But before I could think, the gulash dropped down. I marveled at the thick brown liquid, full of cabbage and meat. It looked like what Jesus would’ve eaten at his own last supper. It took about five minutes, and half the plate, for my stomach to really catch up with what was being thrown down the hatch. The protest had started steady with the sausages, but now my stomach was pressed tight, daringly attempting to make me quit. But who would I be to stop when I’m full? So I powered on, washing the bites down with hefty portions of beer. I had eaten almost everything on the plate when I realized with growing horror, I had done something I thought inconceivable, eaten too much.

Now for most people, eating too much means “oh gosh I seem to have eaten a little too much here! I was full but took a single bite more, now I have a little stomach ache”. But that is how I usually feel after any meal. I quite literally was going to vomit. Its like when you drink that last drink and think “fuck, here goes, where’s the bathroom?” except it was with a bite of meat and cabbage.

Thankfully, at just this moment, the waiter decided to fill the rest of my table’s six seats with five people I’d never met. Five large Czech faces looked at me.

“Do you mind if we sit with you?” they asked, first in Czech, then in English as they saw my initial confusion.

“Go for it” I exhaled, as I felt some sausage threaten to respond as well.

They started talking amongst themselves. I realized I couldn’t run off now without being extremely rude. I stared at the table, sweating.

“Fuck me why did I eat this much???” I wondered

“So where are you from?” asked the man sitting across from me

Godammit

“The States, New York” I replied with effort

Please don’t fucking talk to me, I will vomit on you.

Sadly, my exasperation wasn’t communicated and we launched into a tirade of conversation, only interrupted by my burping as my stomach committed genocide on itself.

Yet this was not the worst of it. The waiter had arrived with an armful of beer mugs. Seeing my mug empty, the man across from me signaled the waiter for a new beer.

“Oh god no, no I can’t, but thank you”

The man looked at me with confusion. He wasn’t even insulted, it was the confusion of being in a situation he just could not fully comprehend. Why would I not want another beer?

“Seriously, I’m fine” I said

“Have you drunken too much?” he asked

“No no, just too much food” I replied

He nodded, still confused, and frowned a little at my strained and visibly sweaty face.

“Suit yourself”

Jesus, I needed to get out of there.

I hurriedly flagged down the waiter and in a pleading voice asked for the check (I could make a horrible pun about Czech/Check but I have some dignity, gosh). I looked at the check and put down a wad of cash, seriously over tipping. I needed to get out to the fresh air then and there.

The group at my table looked a little taken aback as I rose, food still on the plate.

“Are you sure you don’t want another beer? For the road?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, wonderful meeting y’all!” I yelled back as I speed walked to the front door.

I banged out into the cold Prague and inhaled. Doubling over, I put my hands on my knees but, to my amazement, no fountain of gulash poured out. I had survived. Even the rich Czech food couldn’t deal a fatal blow to my stomach.

I stood there for a second, getting weird looks from passersby. The pain in my stomach hadn’t subsided but I hadn’t vomited. I rose and staggered toward the train, gripping my swollen abdomen.

After I got back to where I was staying, I lay on the couch moaning, regretting all my decisions.

To the reader that is appalled at this, who eats just until they’re full: Don’t think this was a lesson, I’m gonna do this shit again.

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literarymusings-blog1 · 8 years ago

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“I just don’t understand why” She repeated He slouched further into the pillows and frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it. “You keep saying you feel uncomfortable and feel confused, but like, why?” “Its hard to explain… Honestly I think I’m just uncomfortable because it’s moving fast” He replied. But it’s not what he meant. He wanted to tell her how he really felt, how he was scared, quite literally, the day after they had slept together. “The confusion is also just, like, where we stand, like, I just don’t understand necessarily what you want.” That wasn’t true either. His confusion stemmed from not knowing how he himself truly felt. He was the prodigal son of some noncommittal deity. Constantly diving headfirst into some girl, only once he entered the pool he would realize he did not really like the temperature of the pool. But once he was in, he had to at least pretend the pool was fun, so he would splash around until the allure of the perfect girl pulled him out, dripping and cold. “I don’t really want shit from you, I was just having fun.” She said with an undertone of exasperation “I mean I like you yeah, but I wanted to be tentative about approaching the situation too, considering, you know, last time” “Fuck” He thought to himself. He started feeling the pressure build, he just wanted her out. He just wanted what he wanted to happen and not to have to live through the experience of it happening. I mean it was uncomfortable to talk about why he was uncomfortable. But she was in his room, she was the one interrogating him. He should’ve found a better location for their final showdown. “Look I think that honestly it just isn’t working out, like I don’t feel happy, do you? Are you really happy? And isn’t that the point of a relationship or whatever this is? Happiness?” Idiot. The point isn’t constant happiness. A relationship “or whatever this is” is about learning and loving. When a problem, such as this, arises, you work through it. “If that’s the way you feel, then that’s the way you feel” She said The regret was apparent as it radiated from her eyes. She was a fool for letting him in her. After some sparse parting words she hurried out the door. Her head spun as she walked away from his door. His head spun as she walked out of his life. Later she would sit up on the balcony, cigarette and whiskey in hand, and try and not think about it. He would lay awake, staring at the ceiling, only a couple hundred feet from where she sat. Just as with the relationship, they sat so close but were still so far apart. So it goes.

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