When K and I began dating, we met every one evening a week at Pasieka, a small restaurant in her home village. It gave us a chance to see each other during the week (it was a long-distance relationship: all of seven kilometers between our villages), and I didn’t have to cook for myself one day a week.
We’d have a beer or two, talk about our week thus far, make plans for the weekend — it was the highlight of the week. After our marriage, we visited Pasieka less frequently, but when we come back to Poland, we have to go back to Pasieka.
We walked to the restaurant for a bite of supper and to meet with “Johnny,” a friend who now lives abroad.
Except for the order of fries for the little girl who joined us, it was just like old times.