We ended up eating there three times in all, and each time our waiter was this sweet kid named Walter. Risa, Vida, and Lea basically ate him up with a spoon; he was a particular favorite of Lea's. Everything was Walter this, Walter that, thank you Walter, Walter's so nice, let's go eat at Obama Grill so we can say hello to Walter, Walter, Walter!
During our last meal there, Walter happened to catch a glimpse of the SU's driver license. This inspired Walter to show us his official Obama Grill identification card. Much to my horror, it didn't state his name as Walter. The dozens of times we had addressed him as such ran like a slideshow through my head. I squinted at the card, hoping I'd simply read it wrong. No such luck. His name was not Walter; it was Voltaire.
"Voltaire?" I asked. "Voltaire as in the...French writer?"
"No Ma'am," he said. "When my mother was six months pregnant with me, she was—ano—electrocuted. So...volt. Voltaire."
Would you practically have DIED just then? Because I almost just about died.
Oh, Voltaire.
As a culinary aside, I must ask: is there anything finer than being served dishes of vinegar, soy sauce, red chiles, and calamansi alongside your steamed rice? No, I think there is not.
Just in case you missed them on Facebook, here is a public link to our Boracay pictures.
5 comments:
Ummm... if mean, died of laughter, yah, I would have died on the spot.
That's classic Filipino punning there!
**eyeshift** Does that make me a bad person?
For me it was a combination of death by mortification and death by hilarity....
I should clarify that I wasn't mortified by Walter/Voltaire, but rather by the fact that my entire family had called him the wrong name for more than a week!
Funny! Especially when he blithely (or deadpanned) explained how he was named!
This still makes me laugh. I definitely think it was "blithely." Thanks for dropping by, Ed!
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