We’re sitting on metal chairs in the Peruvian Restaurant in downtown Oakland. Both of us are starving. My friend has just worked out and it’s been hours since I’ve eaten protein. One glance at the menu and I see what I want - a 16 oz Angus steak with potatoes.
Most people assume I’m a vegetarian since I’ve been a yoga teacher for decades, but this body needs meat. I thrive on meat. When I’m famished I feel like a hungry lion prowling the savanna.
I look at my friend, whom I’ve known for thirty years and blurt out, “I want the steak.” He immediately says, “Oh I’ll share that with you if you want.” Awesome.
It seems an age until the waiter comes to jot down the one thing we want, and another age until the sizzling, tender, fat dripping meat sitting on a bed of potatoes arrives in front of us. Two serrated steak knives come with the meal.
I slice the perfectly cooked meat in two, slide one section onto my plate with a handful of roasted potatoes. Talking ceases. We are both cutting and chewing. Chewing and cutting.
It’s a fatty cut. Grizzly. The flavor is oh so good. As we slice and cut, chew and savor, we both find a lot of grizzle and fat. “Keep the fat. I’ll give it to my girl,” says my friend speaking of his adorable young pitbull mix dog who’s waiting for us in the truck. “Absolutely!” I get it. I have two dogs at home who get to lick the plates after every meal.
After we devour our food, we both look down and see that a third of the steak was fat and grizzle. “I’m going to talk to them about the steak. That’s a lot of fat. Maybe they’ll take something off the bill,” says my friend.
“Really?” I say, “what are you going to say?”
“Just that it seems like this steak had a lot of fat and I’ll ask if they can reduce the price.”
“Really?” I say again.
“Well, if you don’t ask, they can’t say yes”
“Wow, I’ve never thought of it that way. Ok, I want to see this in action.”
It would never dawn on me to ask for a discount because the steak had a lot of fat. I can feel the hint of discomfort rise within me, but I’m more curious now than uncomfortable since my friend will do the asking. I want to see what happens.
He calls the waiter over and in a calm, somewhat matter of fact tone says, “We noticed the steak had a lot of fat and grizzle - almost a third of the steak - I wonder if you might be able to reduce our bill?”
It is clear no one has ever asked him this question. “Let me talk to my manager,” he counters. A gentle Peruvian man dressed in a suit comes to our table to take up the request and my friend walks him through the details. Again I feel the discomfort arise within me. He scoops up our bill on the table, walks away and talks to someone else. “We’re not going to charge you for this. If you can just leave a nice tip for the server that would be great. And next time, please let us know sooner if this happens so we can bring you a different steak.”
I am flabbergasted.
Seriously?
We just ate a delicious steak, we’re taking the fat home in a box to the dog, and because we asked a simple question, we’re getting lunch on the house.
I look at my friend with a glimmer in my eye. My smile betrays the laugh in my belly that he knows well. His eyes smile back. He is magical. Always has been.
“If you don’t ask, they can’t say yes,” he grins.
