Beans, Jam and Me by Sandra Künzi

I was walking around in Glasgow, looking for a nice bar to drink a good coffee. I found one, where two barkeepers (male & female) were doing their work in a happy atmosphere. No other customers. When I walked in, they instantly concentrated all their friendliness on me. I was a little bit scared, but only a little bit. I asked for a breakfast, well, they gave me the menu. So after some time and some kind inquiring looks from behind the bar, I decided to choose a breakfast - toast with beans and jam. Yes, perhaps I’d have chosen something else, if I’d understood the words on the menu.

When the happy waiter brought the plate, I saw what I’d ordered. It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. I mean, all the beans were thrown over the toast, the toast didn’t swim, no, it had gone under in the beans, and at the edge of  the plate,  but still on it, stood a little porcelain dish with red jam. You couldn’t lift this little cup without getting orange sauce all over your hand and the table. The really friendly guy asked: ‘Everything okay?’
 
I couldn’t hide my surprise, so I had to confess, that I thought the things would come separately. ‘Separately?’ Yes, the toast as toast, and the jam as well, and the beans on the side... beside... I looked helplessly at the porcelain cup in the orange pool. I thought, I simply thought, it’s called a side-dish, isn’t it? I wasn’t sure if he understood me. To be honest, I’m not sure, if you understand me.

Meanwhile, a funny hippie came in, said a big hello to everybody, then he and the waiter began to sing together. Out loud, and with great intensity. And not only the refrain/chorus, - no, the whole song playing on the jukebox.

You see: We’re talking about 10 o’clock in the morning. So many happy people so early in the morning! I felt really depressed. In my country, you’ll find such an atmosphere only at ten in the evening and after more than one drink - and certainly not a coffee. It was like I’d walked accidentally into a church service and they’d invited me to join them, stressing the voluntary part so happily, that all present, or I, at least, didn’t feel very free. I only wanted to drink a coffee, eat something small, and start the day slowly. But in here, it was partytime, and there was I - right in the middle of it.

The waiter and the happy hippie had just started a new song when the waitress brought me another plate. On this one was exactly the same stuff and the same quantity as on the first, the only difference was: the beans were served in a separate dish. They wanted me to be satisfied. Two plates both well-filled with the exact same ingredients were now in front of me.

It reminded me of ‘before-and-afters’. You know, that simple, but very popular, thing you find in some magazines: ‘Here is Lizzie. Look at her, what fatty, oily hair she has, and these little pig-eyes without any optical accent and then her very, very problematic, ugly skin. Poor Lizzie. Poor Lizzie. But look at her now after the magic-styling by our famous and lovely beauty-designer Giorgi Chocolatti. What a Beauty! What a miracle our master GC performed. Lizzie became Liz! Yeah!’ Yes, this is how the two plates in front of me appeared. Though meals normally look better before than after - in my case, the second plate without doubt looked much better than the first.

The hippie, however, had gone now, and so both waiters were looking very attentively in my direction, to see how I’d handle this. And even if the Swiss aren’t so good-humoured so early in the morning, we’re brought up well, and so I ate, and ate, and ate, and began to understand perhaps why ate and hate sound similar. Once I’d done, I paid for both plates and feeling bloated - walked out of the bar. Surprisingly, I realised some time later, I was feeling happier, somehow, this morning than any other Monday morning. Beans? Jam? Scottish happiness? I don’t know - but the waiters had been right, when they’d called ‘See you again!’ joyfully after me.

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