一个人的餐桌

米娅在九点前走进了一家小餐馆。餐厅里几乎没有人。一个系着白围裙、眼神疲惫的服务员指了指角落的一张桌子。

Mia walked into the small restaurant just before nine. The dining room was almost empty. A waiter with a white apron and tired eyes pointed at a corner table.

“就一个人吗？”他问。米娅点了点头。她总是一个人旅行，每次用新语言点餐时总有些紧张。菜单是一张手写的纸。

"Just one?" he asked. Mia nodded. She always traveled alone, and she always felt a little nervous ordering in a new language. The menu was on a single sheet of paper, handwritten.

她指着一个不认识的词。服务员第一次露出了微笑。“这是今天的特色菜，”他用缓慢的英语说。“我奶奶的食谱。试试看。如果你不喜欢，我给你换别的。”

She pointed at a word she did not understand. The waiter smiled for the first time. "Is the special of the day," he said in slow English. "My grandmother's recipe. Try it. If you don't like it, I bring something else."

食物装在一个沉重的陶碗里端上来。热腾腾的，蒜香扑鼻，里面有许多小块面包。米娅小心地舀了一勺，抬起头来。服务员站在吧台后，双臂交叉，注视着她。

The food arrived in a heavy clay bowl. Hot, garlicky, full of small pieces of bread. Mia took a careful first spoonful and looked up. The waiter was watching from the bar with his arms crossed.

她对他竖起了大拇指。他笑了，走过来给她的杯子倒满。“很好，”他说。“明天你再来，我告诉你里面有什么。”

She gave him a thumbs up. He laughed, walked over, and refilled her glass. "Good," he said. "Tomorrow you come back and I tell you what's in it."