A Much Missed Steakhouse

"We're going to the Berni tonight .."

As an eleven-year-old, (& beyond), that was the best sentence you could hope to hear from a parent on a weekend.

It was a treat for sure. You'd be dressed well for the visit. 

I'd be blathering all day to my father about what laid ahead:

Me: "What time are we going?"

MM: "We'll head off at about six."

Me: "Is Nanna coming?"

MM: "Yes."

Me: "Will I be allowed a Snowball?"

MM: "No, Christmas only."

**PAUSE**

Me: "What are you going to have to eat later?"

MM: "I don't know yet, let's see when we get there."

**ANOTHER PAUSE**

Me: "I know EXACTLY what I'm having. Prawn Cocktail, then steak, chips & peas with English Mustard. Pudding will be ice cream or Black Forest Gateau."

MM: "Very good."

Me: "Can we play paddle tennis when we get there?"

MM: "Not straight away, no, but at some point, yes."

And everything came to pass.

For the grown-ups there would be a couple of Irish Coffees to round off the evening at the Berni Inn. These were glasses of wonder:

Me: "How do they get the cream to float on top of the coffee?"

Nanna: "They pour it over the back of a spoon."

Me: "Is it nice?"

Nanna: "Very."

If my luck was in, I'd get to have a sip of that dense, dairy delight.

AMM