A Turkey Sandwich

I develop habits quickly. I’ve been in this hotel for only a few days and already I have a daily routine. My alarm goes off at 7, I shower and have breakfast with my conductor colleagues and chat until it is time to set off for the morning’s rehearsal. After that I come back to the hotel, have a nap, think about my blog, call home and study scores (mostly I nap).

For the evening rehearsal I make sure I have my cool new shades for the walk to the hall, I buy an ice cream to give me a bit of energy (I don’t have lunch) and I am all set up for an evening’s music making.

After the rehearsal those of who are socially minded go for a meal together in the restaurant adjoining the concert hall. This is run by a charming and animated Bulgarian who is able to speak every European language there is, he claims to have run a 5 star restaurant in either Sofia or Berlin (I can’t remember which) and I can well believe the claim as the food is excellent.

Last night a group of us accumulated on our usual table and were enjoying a meal. The restaurant has no menu in English so we are dependent upon the charming and very pretty waitresses or the proprietor himself to tell us what he has. I have had an excellent pork cutlet and the fish on offer looked good too. I asked what fish they served and as it was beyond the very pretty waitress’s English to explain, the proprietor was called over and we had a lengthy discussion about the fish he had available. “River Fish or Sea Fish” was the starting point, and pretty much the ending point as well as he only knew the Bulgarian names from thereon. I had selected Sea Fish, he gave me a name that I couldn’t equate to anything but I was happy as I knew it would be good.

An American amongst us had ordered a Turkey sandwich, which I thought was a bit unadventurous given the standard of the food, but he was away from home and may have been homesick. The Americans pretty much invented the Turkey Sandwich. They didn’t invent the Sandwich, we did, though they would like to take the credit and would if we did not constantly remind them that they did not. But, you could say that a Turkey Sandwich is as American as Apple Pie, but I prefer not to as I’m sure the English were eating Apple Pie long before the Pilgrims set sail.

After a while my fish arrived, brought by the proprietor himself, “This is Salmon, I hope that is alright”. I love salmon, and this was rolled, stuffed and in a white sauce, it looked delicious and tasted better. It wasn’t quite what I expected, as I’m pretty sure that the Bulgarian for Salmon is pretty close to Salmon, and sometimes the unexpected has a habit of jumping up and biting you, but I was content with my fish.

I had long finished my Salmon when the American’s food arrived, but he looked a trifle disappointed when a plate of red meat in a purple sauce was put in front of him. “This is not what I ordered, I ordered a Turkey Sandwich” said the American. This seemed to be stating the obvious rather, we all agreed that this was not a Turkey Sandwich, however delicious it looked. The very pretty waitress had gone, so while a few of us made animated efforts to call her back the rest of us discussed what the delicious bowl of meat might be. “It looks like Roast Beef to me” said the American, “It might be duck” I ventured, a Korean suggested something else and the conversation continued like this for a moment or two until the proprietor arrived.

“This isn’t what I ordered, I ordered a Turkey Sandwich” repeated the American, “Yes, this Turkey Sandwich”, said the proprietor omitting the verb in the sentence, but we all forgave him. He pointed to the bowl of delicious red meat “This Turkey” and pointing to a bowl of bread the waitress has also brought, but which had escaped our notice in all the excitement, “This Sandwich. Turkey Sandwich”.

Now I love a joke, but I fell of my chair at this! I roared. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen in a restaurant, and I have seen a few. The expression on the American’s face did not betray any sign that he was amused by the proprietor’s speech. Rather the reverse in fact. I wouldn’t exactly describe his expression as disappointed either, disbelieving maybe, pained perhaps. At this point a number of words were exchanged between the American and the proprietor which although perfectly civil did not have quite the same friendly tone as 10 minutes earlier. I had to restrain my continuing guffaws in order to save everyone’s embarrassment, even my own. The American insisted that this was not a Turkey Sandwich, nor even Turkey, and the proprietor insisted that this was exactly what it was. “Turkey is white, white meat” said the American said pointing to himself, rather inappropriately I thought, “this is red, it’s not even well done”. The proprietor seized on this moment of American weakness and said “I put under grill, then if you no like, all fine, I bring something else”. The American reluctantly agreed to this and the delicious looking meat and the bowl of bread were taken away. Despite the humour we all felt obliged to sympathize with our colleague, whatever we might think of Americans and the eating habits that they have inflicted on the world, we would have to agreed that the Turkey Sandwich was pretty innocuous and that what he had been given was definitely not one.

A few minutes later a dish was put in front of the American, on it were the bread rolls cut in half, and on top of each one was a slice of the delicious looking red meat, slightly better done before and showing signs that the purple sauce had gone under the grill too and therefore was now slightly dried out. “I’m sorry, this is still not a Turkey Sandwich” said the Yank, “You try, if you no like I bring something else” insisted the proprietor. There was nothing for it, the American was going to have to try this stuff. He took half a slice of the red meat and rather gingerly eat it. “You no like?”, “It’s not Turkey” he said, that was enough and the proprietor seized the plate and bore it away, a plate of grilled vegetables was ordered and when they arrived the American eat them with great gusto.

My curiosity had been raised by this, as well as my funny-bone tickled. I really wanted to know what the delicious looking red meat was, and I was curious about the sauce too. So when we went to the restaurant the next day, I asked the waitress if she remember the dish of delicious looking red meat brought to the American as a Turkey Sandwich “You want Turkey Sandwich?” she said. No, I wanted the dish of delicious looking red meat covered in Purple Sauce which you thought was a Turkey Sandwich. She looked puzzled, I shrugged. “OK, please may I have a Turkey Sandwich”.

After a few moments, a plate of Bread Rolls cut in half with some delicious looking red meat appeared in front of me. It wasn’t what I had ordered, I felt like saying “This is not what I ordered” in my most impeccable English accent, “I ordered a Turkey Sandwich” but decided against it.

It was duck, and very delicious!