The G

... or the last "Christmas", so to speak. B invited his grandmother for lunch to meet me last Saturday. It was a long overdue date since we planned to get over the meeting relatives episode over the holidays. On the first Sunday of January, B told me the G was looking for me. He quickly scheduled the date for the next weekend.

B was going to take us to Katre, a continental restaurant tucked in Tomas Morato. It’s a staple in his family’s dining experience book, but two days before the meet, the G changed the plan to Zucchini’s instead. I had never heard of Zucchini’s, so I figured it must be close to Katre, which is upscale-casual. Apparently, Katre to Zucchini is like an upgrade from City Garden to Mandarin Oriental. If she did it to intimidate me, it totally worked.

B made the G wait thirty minutes alone in the restaurant. He picked me up late and traffic was bad. Boy, talk about screwing up your first impression. We planned on an early lunch because of my Korean class at 1:30pm. But since we got to the restaurant at noon, I just accepted the fact that not only would I be late, I would also miss our quiz. On top of that I wasn’t off to a good start with the G.

Casual dining connotes light and fast in my dictionary. Hopes for those things evaporated when we were greeted by a maitre d' as we stepped in the restaurant. It was like stepping inside some place in a different city, not the everyday hustle bustle of Quezon City. Zucchini’s is a French restaurant tastefully decorated, with soft-spoken, well-trained wait staff and quality food preparation. Before I could take in the presence of the G, I couldn’t help admiring the plush chairs that looked better than any chair we have at home. I was doomed. Would I even know how to handle the utensils?

B's Guama was smaller and younger than I expected. At 78, she was less than 5 ft. It wasn’t just the height, though, which didn’t matter since she’s bound to a wheelchair. She was small in frame, almost like a child. Then again, B is not exactly brawny. My first impression of the G was she was clean and probably smelled nice. I have to admit I was preparing for a matrona-looking lady with salon perfect coiffure, swathed in jewelry and fancy clothes. I forgot, only Chinese people from the southern parts of the Metro did that. Chinese in the northern cities are usually low profile and conservative. The G had on a simple emerald green polo shirt and a pair of gold stud earrings. She had very short but neatly combed hair which was almost completely white. If not for the clear, intelligent eyes and set mouth, the overall effect was a harmless old lady. But I wasn’t fooled.

Later that day I would chastise B for making me sit right across the G. It didn’t only make scrutinizing me easier; it meant we had to talk. My experience meeting B’s parents has taught me that I can’t count on B to break the ice on first meetings, which is due to either an oversight or men’s general weakness in social skills. Didn't he know that a person is five times more likely to screw up under pressure?!

The main entrees are twice the price at Italianni’s. Being price conscious even if I wasn’t paying, I was tempted to order something simple. But B and the G ordered steaks, and when I flipped over to the page they were at, I felt a lump in my throat. For the first time in my life, I would be having a 2,000+ meal. I'm really not so much of a carnivore, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I was surprised that a person as tiny as the G can down 200g of beef though, and that doesn’t even include the mashed potatoes. I made a mistake when I didn't order soup. The G asked why I didn’t order when their soups—apple cinnamon and pumpkin, tomato—arrived. Because the waiter didn't ask me! I thought as I smiled and told them it was fine. In the end, I ordered lobster bisque (too salty for me but quite an experience). Good thing I ordered late, since it gave me something to do after their bowls had been taken away and nobody talked for a good three minutes.

B and the G engaged themselves in a conversation (mostly about food) during the entire meal. Once in a while, a funny remark would be made and I’d smile with them. But that was about all my contribution. Our main entrees arrived promptly after the soup. The presentation was impressive—from the cute plastic marker stuck on the meat to distinguish doneness, to the thick wedge of potato balanced against the vegetable sides, sear-stamped with the restaurant logo. There’s no picture of it on the net (I’ve tried looking for one), which was understandable given the swanky restaurant ambiance. You’d probably look promdi if you tried snapping pictures of every dish that came to your table.

With one bite, B was able to tell that something was wrong with the vegetables and asked to have them replaced. The maitre d' went in the kitchen and quickly came out, informing us that he had tried the vegetables and they were not fresh indeed. A few minutes later, we were served freshly blanched vegetables that tasted so good I would’ve exchanged my meat for B and the G’s portions. While B and G talked among themselves, I prayed they wouldn't stop and ignore me completely.

But I was not going to be spared. B left me with the G alone when he went to the bathroom after we finished our food. At first, I busied myself with the brewed coffee I ordered. But seeing how ridiculous it was to act like a mute, I decided that nothing would come out of being shy. She might think I was smug and disrespectful even. So, I took a deep breath and, putting on my sincerest expression, apologized for being late. From there, I was able to initiate a conversation about coffee drinking habits which was sustained until B got back. After that things were considerably easier. The restaurant gave us a complimentary desert for their blunder. I'm not a carrot cake fan but that one looked appetizing, with a thin swirling biscuit in chocolate dripping design stuck on it.

I can’t tell if I passed. I can’t tell what the meeting did for us. B is not being helpful either, insisting that his family is okay with me as long as I am okay with him. I have no choice but to expect the worst. What I am sure of, though, are two things: 1) B isn’t just playing around, but 2) somehow, I feel inadequate now.