Manhattan

I watched through our kitchen’s “look out” window as a couple wandered into our dining room.

They sat down and looked around; a true indicator that they weren’t regulars. We have counter service, along with a sign above that reads “ORDER HERE”.

Front gal immediately knew that they were newbies, and brought them menus. She answered a few questions, one of which was if we offered pasta.

Nope.

They had their hearts set on pasta, so she gave them directions to downtown and where to find Barley Brown’s or the Prospectors.

They left, and we tended to our two larger groups.

Ten-minutes later, they walked back in. They had drove around for awhile and had decided that they wanted to try us out.

And less than an hour later, they made our day.

“Tell whoevah is makin’ dis dough dat day ah doin’ it right,” said the wife. “We’ah from Manhattan, an’ we eat Italian almost every night. Dis dough is the real thing.”

Her husband nodded while chewing furiously, shaking his finger in the air for emphasis.

He added, “We gotta get a pie to go for da road.”

They ordered a Marghertia to go, and pumped everyones hand as they left, thanking us.

It’s this kind of thing that seriously makes my day.

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One Response to Manhattan

  1. Adrienne says:

    Couldn’t ask for a better compliment than that!

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