When I was growing up in Grand Rapids, my family sometimes went to dinner at a German restaurant called the “Schnitzelbank.” Before the meal, my parents enjoyed having a “cocktail”—while my brother Bob and I finished off the basket of bread.
It was good dark German rye with whole seeds and hard crusts, unlike anything we ate at home. When the waitress finally came, our father would say, “Order whatever you want,” and we did, forgetting we were already full.
Although Bob and I could never clean our plates, Dad never scolded. At home he pinched every penny, but when we went out for dinner he didn’t count the cost. “I wish they didn’t put prices on menus,” he said.
Looking back, I’m pretty sure my parents would have enjoyed the Schnitzelbank more without two fidgety children at the table. But they wanted us to learn how to read a menu and order a meal and make the right tip.
We even learned not to eat all the bread in the basket. Now Bob and I enjoy having a “cocktail” before dinner, too, and we recently shared a toast. “To the parents,” he said, “and the Schnitzelbank.”
“Order whatever you want,” I said.