We were out for dinner last night (in Indian restaurant Invitation in the middle of the bulbfields) and we ran into that fine species that calls himself waiter and is defined in the textbook as: "The guy who, as he is walking away from you, will tell you he'll be right with you."

Helas, his two (or maybe even three) lady coworkers were just hired for the night and really had no clue whatsoever off what they were doing.

This was illustrated by getting partly cold food on the table, empty glasses piling up because the ladies chose to walk back to the kitchen area over and over again emptyhanded, repeated noises in the kitchen area of breaking glass an falling (copper) plates and dishes...

The food was (after the cold dishes were properly heated) delicious. The owner was his always charming, smiling, bowing, friendly, not doing anything, self. The company (most of my chosen family) was great.

And it never ceases to amaze me to find such a jewel of a restaurant at a camping site in the middle of nowhere. But for the bulb fields then that is.