Last summer we went to the Alps. Well, we found in some village a restaurant that attracts visitors with the promise of "fresh fish". I went and ordered a forel. The waitress took the order and took it to the kitchen. Exactly a minute later, the chef came out of there, with German craftsmanship, took off the cooking coat and hood, hanged it in the closet, took out of the same closet the cage, the cage and the chair, and walked boldly to the shore of the nearest mountain river. It has a taste for fishing.
We are here, to confess, a little fooled. This is really fresh fish! In the eyes of the visitor. No, well, I saw one day in Crete, as a waitress, accepting an order for a vegetable salad, immediately wrapped the sleeves of the fraca, dropped the lacquered shoes and shuffled barefoot to collect cucumbers and tomatoes on the garden adjacent to the tavern. But the fish!
Carefully asked the waitress, how much time, in his opinion, will take the execution of our order, and what will happen if there is no clove, or there will be no forel?
The waiter, having understood the essence of our question, stumbled upon us as if we were crazy, and explained very distinctly and clearly: "This cook now has a lunch break, and how he spends it is his business. And your forel is already on the bowl, her other cook is roasting. And we bring fish every morning from our own farm a kilometer above the mountains.” Following this, the young man went to the kitchen to delight his colleagues with a new story about idiot tourists.