. . . on dining out on a budget
I AM GOING OUT to dinner. To somewhere that doesn’t have a children’s menu. Even better I’ve been given a free pass for the night from Him Indoors. This should be a guilt-free evening out but already I feel slightly guilty for accepting the invitation because we are on a strict household budget at the moment which doesn’t really allow for impromptu dinners. While I know I’m no actuary, I personally feel that this is a bit of a flaw in the budget.
Still, I think, you have to treat yourself now and again. I mean, life would be dull if you didn’t go mad sometimes. As much as I like the place, by “go mad” I am not talking a foot-long with extra jalapenos from Subway.
Anyway that’s what I’m thinking to myself as I get some money from the cash machine. But how much to take out? It’s been a while since I’ve gone out to one of these group dinners. I mean what if I order the cheapest thing on the menu and everyone else orders fillet steaks and then at the end somebody just takes the bill and divvies it up regardless of what every individual consumed?
This still happens you know. Even in the current etc, etc. It’s quite possible that I could quite easily end up paying for everyone else’s expensive tastes. I might be left forking out for a section of their steak and that’s before we are even talking side orders. Oh god. I forgot about the side orders. What if it’s one of those nights where somebody, just casual like, orders a selection of sides for the table, half of which won’t get eaten, even though they will probably cost a fiver each. Now I have indigestion and I haven’t even eaten anything yet.
Still, this is a good crowd, I think, as I join the table. We are more acquaintances than close friends but these are people I want to get to know better. Then I look at the menu which has things like whole lobster on it. And everyone seems to be ordering starters in addition to mains and so of course I start panicking and doing sums in my head.
As I mentioned, I am no actuary and I am rubbish at doing sums in my head which only heightens the panic. Suddenly the money I took out from the cash machine doesn’t seem like nearly enough.
I make a crucial decision. I won’t order a starter. Then when it comes to divvying up the bill I’ll just have to be that one annoying person, there’s always one, who interrupts the person who is doing the divvying to say things like, I only had tap water and I didn’t have a starter.
And then the next time anyone suggests going out for dinner I’ll just be washing my hair that night or something and avoid all this dining-out-on-a-budget stress. Yes. That sounds like a plan.
So no starter but I realise it’s going to look a bit odd if I don’t order wine. They might not know me well but sadly they know me well enough.
There’s only one other person at my end of the table drinking white so I look at the wine list and remember that thing about never ordering the cheapest wine and how the second cheapest is always much nicer and also doesn’t make the person ordering it look too cheap.
And my plan would have worked if a wine buff to my left hadn’t interrupted my faux-educated perusing of the wine list to say, “If I were you that’s the one I’d order.” I look at the wine he is pointing at and I see that it’s the Sancerre. For a second I come over all nostalgic.
There were days, I am nearly sure, in my past when ordering Sancerre wouldn’t have cost me a second thought. Now I am desperately trying to convince my co-white wine drinker that a €20 bottle of something Chilean would be far nicer. She orders the Sancerre.
Halfway through the meal she orders another bottle. I don’t object when she fills my glass. I am thinking the extra glasses will help when it comes to the bit where I am telling the person divvying up the bill that I will only be paying for stuff I ordered.
I even manage to relax and enjoy myself in between bouts of wondering how I can fiddle the figures in my bank account so Him Indoors doesn’t notice I’ve spent the price of our weekly shop on one night out. The dessert menus come around.
I have a quick look and make authentic I-couldn’t-possibly-I’m-stuffed noises.
That’s when I notice a couple of discreet conversations happening at my end of the table. There is talk of cards and the bill and suddenly I realise I am eavesdropping on a conversation where a couple of people are proposing they pay for the entire dinner.
Even in the current etc etc it seems people still sometimes do things like this.
I am ecstatic about this turn of events. And at the same time I am wishing I’d gone for the whole lobster. This must be what it feels like to have a modest lottery win.
To celebrate I do the same as anybody else would in my situation. I order a tiramisu.
In other news
Celebrate feminism at the Irish Feminist Network’s first conference next Saturday, May 19th, with speakers including The Irish Times’ Ticket editor Anthea McTeirnan and former Irish Countrywomen’s Association president Mamo McDonald. Tickets for the all-day event at the Sean O'Casey Community Centre, East Wall, Dublin 3, are ¤15, which includes lunch, and tea and biscuits. For more, visit irishfeministnetwork.org