Fed up

murdered Francie. Thankfully, we were interrupted.
    A waitress approached our table to deliver menus. She held up a pitcher of ice water. “Would you like me to refill your drinking vessels?”
    Our drinking vessels ? You had to be kidding me. But the pretentious phrase was oddly appropriate: the cylindrical metal tubes that sat on our table certainly were not glasses. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” I said while sucking in my cheeks to hide my smile.
    The waitress poured water for Nelson and Robin while she robotically recited the specials. “Alloy uses herbs that the chef grows in her own garden. All of our dishes are complemented by fresh herbs. Tonight we have a cucumber soup made with organic cucumbers, crème fraîche, and homegrown dill, and garnished with a spiral of lemon zest.” She looked down and flicked a piece of lint off her apron. “Then there’s a farm-raised chicken leg encrusted with fresh herbs and roasted with a melange of organic mushrooms and topped with a truffle foam.”
    Are the herbs fresh? I wanted to ask. Could you tell us one more time? I also refrained from asking whether it was only the leg of the chicken that had been raised on a farm, whereas the rest of the bird had grown up elsewhere. And no way was I going to eat foam. I’d seen enough Top Chef episodes to know that gastronomic foam meant a substance that looked like spit. The waitress left the table without so much as a nod.
    Robin raised her glass. Whoops! Pardon me. Robin lifted her drinking vessel. “Cheers to the wedding!” She took a sip and opened the menu. “Let’s take a look at what else Marlee has for us.” Addressing me, she advised, “Sometimes it’s best to order off the menu.”
    The menu had such long, grandiloquent descriptions that it was all I could do to decipher what was actually being offered. Also, I had the sense that I was reading a culinary version of the “The Twelve Days of Christmas”: nearly every dish included numbers: Six Clams Simmered in White Wine and Five-Herb Garlic Butter, Two Slices of Pork Loin Seared and Served with a Three-Potato Gallette, and A Tower of Four Shrimp with Seven Seasonal Vegetables.
    “Fiiiive golden rings!“ I sang in my head.
    Because I wasn’t sure whether Robin was paying for dinner, the high prices had me scanning the menu for the cheapest items. Furthermore, the reports on the Mayor’s Food Court had left me leery. Under no circumstances did I ever go out of my way to order a dish garnished with food-borne illness —Salmon with Salmonella, let’s say, or Sole on a Bed of E. coli Spinach —but now, a few days before Adrianna’s shower, I especially wanted avoid the risk. I decided on the cucumber soup and roasted cod. As I decoded the description of the fish, the dish had something to do with pureed chickpeas and, needless to say, a mountain of fresh herbs.
    “So I gather that fresh herbs are the theme of this restaurant, huh?” I asked the table.
    “Absolutely,” Robin answered.
    “I wonder how Marlee finds time to garden? Considering that she must work here all the time.”
    “Oh, she’s an avid gardener. And the herbs are very important to her.”
    Hmm. An avid gardener who might grow more than just herbs? “Does either of you garden?”
    Nelson shook his head. “Nah. I don’t care about flowers and all that. I’ve got a small apartment with no yard, anyhow.”
    “Same here,” Robin said. “I’ve got a black thumb when it comes to flowers. Not that my apartment has a yard or a balcony, even, but I can’t keep so much as a houseplant alive. I forget to water them. Marlee!” Robin stood up and smiled as Marlee made her way through the dining room.
    The female chef looked even pastier than the last time I’d seen her, and her soiled white chef’s coat did nothing to flatter her stocky figure. “I heard you were out here, Robin.” Marlee tucked her short hair behind her ears, a move that only exaggerated her round face. I caught sight of her dirty fingernails and desperately prayed that she was cooking with gloves on. “I’m so glad to see you. Hi, Nelson. Hi, Chloe. I have to get back in the kitchen, but I wanted to say hello and let you know that I’ll send food out for you, so don’t bother with the menus, okay? I’ll pop out again if I can.” Marlee smiled curtly and waved.
    Robin reached under the table and pulled a yellow notepad from her bag. “Now, I want to talk about the process of obtaining permission to