buffalo mozzarella salad, marinated artichokes, all sorts of freshly baked breads, salmon and blackened mahi mahi, and more.
Anthony and Chet were seated at a table for four. A waitress arrived to take their drink order.
“What kind of beer do you have?” Chet asked.
The waitress said, “Too many to remember. What kind do you want?”
“Do you have Guinness?”
“On tap,” she said.
“Pint of Guinness and a cognac, Courvoisier,” Chet said.
“And for you, sir?”
“Can I get an iced coffee, please?” Gianni asked.
Chet looked at him quizzically. “You a teetotaler?”
“No, I just don’t like drinking during the day. It makes me feel too logy. I like a clear head for a big race day.”
When the drinks arrived, Chet raised a brandy sniffer and said, “Well, here’s to Chiefly Endeavor.” He slugged it down in a single swallow, and then followed it with several gulps of beer.
“Shall we eat,” Chet announced as he stood up to head towards the buffet tables.
He returned with two plates, a large dinner plate heaped into several large piles that included virtually everything that had been offered. The piles mixed together so that they blended into some sort of monumental goulash. At the bottom of the heap were double portions of the beef and turkey. On the smaller plate were several types of salad, a little more distinct from one another than the giant goulash on the larger plate.
“What a spread, huh?”
Gianni looked across at the two plates. “Looks more like a heap than a spread there on your plate, Chet.”
“All goes to the same place, Doc.” He patted his belly, which protruded noticeably from his unbuttoned sport coat. The top two buttons of his shirt were open and a heavy gold chain was visible amidst the forest of black and grey hair. The chain disappeared into the shirt, and Gianni wondered what hung at the end of it—a medallion,crucifix, maybe nothing.
Chet looked across at Gianni’s plate. “What’s wrong with you? You on a diet?”
Gianni had selected roast turkey, a pasta salad, and the tomato with buffalo mozzarella. “No, I’m just not in the mood for a big meal. I’ll have my dinner celebration tonight.”
Regardless of the amount of food Gianni had on his plate, he would invariably finish it quickly, but without any appearance of eating too fast. It was more a deliberate pace, not a rushed one, something that he had acquired during his residency training. He remembered that at the time, his colleagues would often skip a lunch rather than try to wolf something down in five or ten minutes. He would always sit and eat, even if for only a few minutes. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t function well for the remainder of the day. He thought then, and he thought now, how terrible it must feel to go hungry for days, or longer, as some of the world’s impoverished must do. Then he thought of his upcoming medical mission to the island of St. Lucia. He had spent much of the previous week assembling the required credentialing files and completing the application.
Across the table, Chet looked like a human shovel, devouring large forkfuls of mixed portions in a shark-like feeding frenzy. Gianni imagined that if there had been another fork at his side, he might be using one in each hand. He did need the free hand though, because the fistfuls of food were punctuated by gulps of beer. When the glass was empty, he turned his head side to side looking for the waitress. When he spotted her, he raised his empty glass in her direction and she soon returned with another Guinness.
Few words were spoken for the next several minutes. Knowinghe was a fast eater, Gianni was amazed when Chet finished just shortly after him, though Chet’s speed and voracity were clearly evident.
When Chet returned from the desert table, Gianni noted that he had been a little more selective for his final feeding, choosing only a piece of key lime pie and a slice of dark chocolate cake.
“Where will you
Anthony and Chet were seated at a table for four. A waitress arrived to take their drink order.
“What kind of beer do you have?” Chet asked.
The waitress said, “Too many to remember. What kind do you want?”
“Do you have Guinness?”
“On tap,” she said.
“Pint of Guinness and a cognac, Courvoisier,” Chet said.
“And for you, sir?”
“Can I get an iced coffee, please?” Gianni asked.
Chet looked at him quizzically. “You a teetotaler?”
“No, I just don’t like drinking during the day. It makes me feel too logy. I like a clear head for a big race day.”
When the drinks arrived, Chet raised a brandy sniffer and said, “Well, here’s to Chiefly Endeavor.” He slugged it down in a single swallow, and then followed it with several gulps of beer.
“Shall we eat,” Chet announced as he stood up to head towards the buffet tables.
He returned with two plates, a large dinner plate heaped into several large piles that included virtually everything that had been offered. The piles mixed together so that they blended into some sort of monumental goulash. At the bottom of the heap were double portions of the beef and turkey. On the smaller plate were several types of salad, a little more distinct from one another than the giant goulash on the larger plate.
“What a spread, huh?”
Gianni looked across at the two plates. “Looks more like a heap than a spread there on your plate, Chet.”
“All goes to the same place, Doc.” He patted his belly, which protruded noticeably from his unbuttoned sport coat. The top two buttons of his shirt were open and a heavy gold chain was visible amidst the forest of black and grey hair. The chain disappeared into the shirt, and Gianni wondered what hung at the end of it—a medallion,crucifix, maybe nothing.
Chet looked across at Gianni’s plate. “What’s wrong with you? You on a diet?”
Gianni had selected roast turkey, a pasta salad, and the tomato with buffalo mozzarella. “No, I’m just not in the mood for a big meal. I’ll have my dinner celebration tonight.”
Regardless of the amount of food Gianni had on his plate, he would invariably finish it quickly, but without any appearance of eating too fast. It was more a deliberate pace, not a rushed one, something that he had acquired during his residency training. He remembered that at the time, his colleagues would often skip a lunch rather than try to wolf something down in five or ten minutes. He would always sit and eat, even if for only a few minutes. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t function well for the remainder of the day. He thought then, and he thought now, how terrible it must feel to go hungry for days, or longer, as some of the world’s impoverished must do. Then he thought of his upcoming medical mission to the island of St. Lucia. He had spent much of the previous week assembling the required credentialing files and completing the application.
Across the table, Chet looked like a human shovel, devouring large forkfuls of mixed portions in a shark-like feeding frenzy. Gianni imagined that if there had been another fork at his side, he might be using one in each hand. He did need the free hand though, because the fistfuls of food were punctuated by gulps of beer. When the glass was empty, he turned his head side to side looking for the waitress. When he spotted her, he raised his empty glass in her direction and she soon returned with another Guinness.
Few words were spoken for the next several minutes. Knowinghe was a fast eater, Gianni was amazed when Chet finished just shortly after him, though Chet’s speed and voracity were clearly evident.
When Chet returned from the desert table, Gianni noted that he had been a little more selective for his final feeding, choosing only a piece of key lime pie and a slice of dark chocolate cake.
“Where will you
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