California Moments - Part 1

I walked into an Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills and asked them if they had gluten-free pasta. The hostess handed me a menu. At first, I was confused. “Which of these pastas is gluten-free?” I wondered. “It’s not clearly marked.” Then I realized that it was a special menu listing only gluten-free items. 

(Editor’s note: Of course they have a gluten free menu. It’s L.A.)

I noticed something strange. The menu had no prices on it. None. You place your order, and whatever it costs, that’s what you have to pay. Mentioning the price is just so gauche, so tacky, so 2016!

I felt a little nervous about ordering. “How much is this pasta going to cost?” I wondered. The only number beside each item was the number of calories that it contained. 

(Editor’s note: Of course the menu listed the calorie count for each item. It’s L.A.)

Not wanting to seem like an awkward out-of-town tourist, I went ahead and ordered my meal. Fortunately, the prices turned out to be reasonable. The pasta that I ordered was fifteen and change. (I was relieved that it wasn’t thirty bucks. Or worse.) It was an inexpensive bill for diner in the global center of new wealth. 

I have to admit, though, that placing the order without knowing the prices was a strange feeling. I was preparing myself to get jacked.