Kitchen
Dinner where the waiter knew my name
Third night in the same small restaurant. I stopped pretending to read the menu.
Freja Ås
On work trips I eat in the same place every night. It saves deciding. By night three the waiter brought water without asking and told me what was good.
I ate what he said. Fish, potatoes, something green. I don't remember what it was called. I remember the bread, which was warm, and the table by the window.
Why I do it
Hotels are lonely. One restaurant where someone recognises you makes the city feel smaller and kinder. I tip well on the last night.
