“Your Roquefort salad, miss Stein. Seasoned with organic Syrian olive oil, cold pressed, coarse salt - made in Israel, with shallot onions and a pinch of honey - recommended by the three-michelin-stars awarded chef” said the headwaiter with graces, and served the main course to the set table.
“Oh, I’ve nearly forgotten,” he added, while miss Stein scrupulously examines her salad, “the cheese arrived directly from the Greek farmers of the Island… -’os’ something. Who knows their spécialité better than us,” he winked.
Veronica was most certainly not pleased. She had waited far too long for her dish, and it seemed as if her dressing was missing a tad of essential sweetness. She had nearly returned her salad so to be exchanged for another, however, the hunger got the best of her. It was no secret - miss Stein does not like to be hungry.
As she unwillingly nibbles through her bowl, Veronica observed the slowly setting sun in the horizon. At this time of twilight she used to sail with contemplation - and at the moment she was reflecting on how intriguing was the sight of the remote building’s 8th floor in comparison to that of it’s fifteenth. It’s all about perspective, she pondered.
The headwaiter came to clear the half-full bowl that remained on miss Stein’s table. “Was the salad to your liking, miss Stein?”
The story continues in the full book. You can buy it, or ask for a discounted or free copy. Forgive the marketing trick.
