On the far north coast, we were brought the customary fish soup to begin our evening meal. We were the only customers. The row of thirty-or-so shacks stretched along the beach lay silent. The restaurant was a good hundred meters behind us, and they had laid tables out at the shoreline, so we could watch the dark rushing of the Atlantic as we ate. Once the soup was done, we waved to the young waitress, who waddled across the rough sand for most of a minute. We ordered shrimps cooked in coconut milk. We watched her walk back, and twenty minutes later when she returned, we wolfed the shrimps down and waved again. It was after ten o'clock now and I could see she was longing to close up shop and go home, were it not for these two meek gringos ruminating in the dark. TW sensed her justified frustration and declined to order more food. I pointed to a random item, low on the menu, that I had seen written on chalkboards in the local restaurants. At this, the waitress looked to be on the verge of tears and walked, quicker now, back across the wide beach to the kitchen. Around forty minutes passed before she came back bearing a huge bucket-sized bowl of the same fish soup we had eaten on arrival, but this time with an entire fish, head to tail, and a large pile of potatoes and tubers sitting in the broth. As soon as she was far enough away I began lamenting my supposed adventurousness. It was enough food to feed four people. I tried to shift some potatoes onto TW but he was not so keen. Fair enough. I struggled through a third of the bowl, burning my mouth in embarrassed haste and muttering anxiously. Finally I caved in and waved towards the red light of the restaurant. I mumbled in terrible Spanish that I was very full, it was very nice but I was so full, haha... Fuck's sake.You ungrateful cunt. She could be in front of the telly, and instead she's listening to you sniveling on about how she has given you too much food. I can only assume that they had to re-make the whole soup from scratch because of how much time passed.
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