The two normal people meet to eat (the two normal people almost never do those things, but this time they did) in one of those new places, painted white and soft green, run by young people in white aprons with burlap decorations, angry people with dark circles under their eyes who believed that everything was going to turn out better. The first normal person consults the menu.—Pumpkin soup?—That’s delicious, right?—I don’t know. Roasted pumpkin soup with a touch of ginger and coconut milk—she reads.—If it’s a touch…—I don’t like coconut.—No one likes coconut, but it still doesn’t taste like coconut. There are many coconut things that don’t taste like coconut.—Oh, yes? Which ones?—I said it just to say it. But maybe if you ask that they not give you the milk…—Let’s see who dares. Have you seen the boy? The boy is a guy in his thirties, with a beard and a pronounced receding hairline (more so than a year ago), with the appearance of a vegetarian about to give up, who clearly hates the clientele because the clientele everything It seems expensive to him and he does not appreciate what is offered: a touch of fair price, another of chromatic balance and another of comprehensive health.—I better not ask for anything.—No, better not. Aren’t there any other things?—Beet carpaccio…—There will be carpaccio, for sure. Why do you put it with two C’s?—You put it in foreign, yes. Beet carpaccio with organic goat cheese and fresh arugula. Or, if not, Heirloom tomato tartar with basil, red onion and extra virgin olive oil.—Jolín, right?—And jolán.—Is everything Barcelona now?—Apparently. What could Heirloom be?—Something about Hitler.—Well, the same thing, because look at the girl. The girl is thirty-seven and looks like she has never smiled in her life. He takes notes with reluctance, casts furtive glances at the kitchen, as if he doesn’t trust them, and responds with threats when someone asks him to change the Modena vinegar for a normal one.—Well, you say, but we could have asked for something, I don’t know. , a little like that, to the center, and then to each their own.—That’s it. Since it is a menu site… But we can share, if you want.—No soup.—No soup, which is not left.—Or we ask for two straws.—Also. But we can share the tartare and the carpaccio…—Or we can share it with the person next door, and look how they suit us, all well together.—And in these tiny chairs, which look like they’re from a nursery. —The normal person focuses—. What do we order as a second?—What’s there? It’s just that I haven’t brought my glasses.—Why?—Because I couldn’t find them.—Of course. No glasses… Well, for a second there is a warm quinoa salad with seasonal vegetables, toasted chickpeas and a lemon and tahini dressing.—Is that a second?—If you have eaten something before… Or green asparagus and mushroom risotto shiitake, served with an organic white wine reduction.—And what about shiitake, what is it?—They will be normal mushrooms. And lentil and mushroom burger, accompanied by kale salad and roasted sweet potatoes.—Man, finally something normal.—Lentils and mushrooms, he says.—What?—Well, the burger.—But how are you going to make a hamburger with lentils?—Well, squeezing a lot, right?—Squeezing the lentils?—Apparently.—And will it then taste like a hamburger?—Surely not. Have you seen the look on everyone’s face here? The waiters have a bad face, yes, but the customers look better, with their office suits or flowing clothes, depending on the table, well-trimmed beards (or not), High ponytails, mustard-colored scarves, red lips, modern bob cuts; a little of everything; everyone talking loudly and everyone avoiding the bread.—And for dessert?—Vegan carrot cake with cashew frosting.—Vegan carrot. Very good.—Dark chocolate mousse with avocado and a touch of sea salt…—Ah, look, another touch. Thank goodness.—And apple and oat crumble with local vanilla ice cream.—And how do you know that?—They will go and return by train.—Ah, of course. And why does everyone carry cloth bags?—Everyone, who?—Everyone. Look. A million cloth bags—white, black, lilac, bone—hang from the backrests.—It will be more ecological.—Maybe yes. If it’s more environmentally friendly, fine. The two normal people move around in the tiny chairs. They’re still hungry, but it’s going away. They look at the wall, full of perfectly labeled words that are beginning to lose their shine; the light, too white; the plants that hang from the ceiling, locked in their macrame prisons.—Could it be that’s how everything is now, right?—Could it be.—It’s not like it was anymore.—Not anymore.—So, what do we ask for?—Me, soup, salad and cake. Since I start by not eating, which is all air, then nothing happens if I order the cake. You?—Me, the tartare, the hamburger and the apple thing.—In the end you order the hamburger?—I just came craving lentils…—Ah, right. Well then yes.
#dessert
