well i was sitting, waiting, wishing

We needed a bite of lunch, so we stopped in at a cramped hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Hole-in-the-wall means something different in Nepal than it does in the US. It's pretty spartan. We weren't exactly sure it was open at first. There was a boy helping an older man install a replacement pane of glass in the counter. We asked the boy if they were open. He didn't understand. People speak English here, so don't be overly sympathetic. We repeated the question. "Yes," he said. We took a seat. He produced a menu and went back to helping the man install the glass.

Ten minutes passed.

I got his attention. "Do you work here?" Nod. "May we order?" Wobbly Nepali head movement that can mean anything, but usually means "OK." I explained our order, counting off the items on my fingers for clarity:

"One veg momo." Menu price, 30 rupees.
"One veg spring roll." 60.
"One Miranda." 20.
"One black tea." 5.

"Momo?" Uh-oh. Slight confusion. Repeat, with fingers:

"One veg momo."
"One veg spring roll."
"One Miranda."
"One black tea."

"OK." Phew. A momo is basically a potsticker. You get a plate of maybe eight. A spring roll is basically an egg roll. You get a plate of maybe two. Nepal is a nation of Indians eating Chinese food and Tibetans eating Tibetan food.

Boy goes behind the counter and produces two Mirandas for our approval. "One Miranda," I repeat. He pops the lid of one and hands it over, stowing the other one back beneath the counter. Back to the pane of glass. He produces my tea in a few minutes.

Time passes.

Man walks in the door. Appears to be the actual owner here. Boy speaks with him in Nepali. The man turns to us. "Veg momo?" Alas. Repeat, with fingers:

"One veg momo."
"One veg spring roll."
"One Miranda."
"One black tea."

I point out the last two items as I mention them to indicate they have already arrived. "OK. Momo steam or fry?" "Steam." Man disappears to kitchen. Phew. Boy leaves for parts unknown, comes back with a cabbage, holds it up for our approval. He's got it correct. "Yes, veg."

Time passes.

Begger comes in; begs.

Time passes.

A plate arrives! It's veg spring rolls. The two forks on the plate are a little disconcerting. I eat. Nikki mooches. I finish.

Time passes.

Begger leaves.

Time passes.

Nikki steals a glance at the bill. It definitely says "momo".

Time passes.

I go pick up the bill and read:

1. Veg Momo 1 @ 30
2. Miranda 1 @ 25
3. Black Tea 1 @ 10

Numbered just like that. 1-2-3. Nevermind that I counted off four items on my fingers every time. Nevermind that a spring roll arrived, but wasn't recorded. Nevermind that since the chef asked about steam/fry there couldn't have been any confusing a momo and a spring roll. Nevermind that he was overcharging our drinks. Nobody from the restaurant was in sight.

We borrowed a pen, corrected the price of our drinks, left exact change, and stopped at a bakery on our way home. We paid the momo price, not the spring roll price. Sorry, dude. You lose.

I have no idea what happened to the steamed veg momos. After all, this is Nepal.

--Nils