the pepper mill

Last night, my brother treated my sister and me to an Italian restaurant that offered personally served parmesan cheese and ground pepper from a pepper mill for our dishes. It reminded me of the first time I ever encountered a pepper mill.

Soon after our father died many years ago, one of our uncles treated my family to an Italian restaurant that was located in a distinct looking old-fashioned building a stones throw away from the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) tracks in nearby Walnut Creek. As an opening course, we were served salad. The waiter started walking around to each of us, doing something that I didn't recognize. When he got to me, the next thing I knew he was grinding what turned out to be a pepper mill over my salad. I just sat there quietly, not knowing what was going on. He kept grinding until he realized that I wasn't going to tell him to stop and my salad was completely covered. Then when we began eating our salads, I took one taste and couldn't eat any... too hot! What a waste.