Mother does not know that the panini I ate was amritham!

Five hours to kill at Frankfurt airport.  Damn connections because I live in a small town in the remote Pacific Northwest.

As I passed the Business Class lounge that Ramesh perhaps frequented during his jetset-executive days, I thought it might be a wonderful way to spend the five hours there.  Years past, when I was lucky with free upgrades to the premier class, I have gotten free entrances to those lounges.  Tasty snacks, coffee, fruits, and--most importantly--showers.  It seems I have lost whatever little charm I had and airline personnel no longer give me that free upgrade.

I went in through that door.  The people before me in the line flashed their business class boarding passes and were shown the way to the lounge.  It was my turn. "Is there a possibility for me to pay and use the services here?"

The answer was nothing but what I had expected anyway: "No, sir."

I continued to walk.  I found a series of arty wooden benches.  On one was a young man, lying flat with his eyes closed and his backpack by his feet.  I went over to another bench, put my backpack down for use as a pillow, placed my glasses by my side, and fell asleep.  Well, mostly asleep.

When I got up a little over an hour later, I was hungry.  For a small guy that I am, I am often hungry.  I suppose all the thinking and blogging burns up the calories! ;)

I continued on with the walking.  An eatery promised authentic Italian food. The mozzarella cheese/tomato sandwich with pesto on focaccia bread looked way tempting.  And so was the young woman behind the counter.  About twenty-two she was, blonde and petite with youthful energy and a smile that was not the stereotypical German stern face.

I ordered the sandwich and a cappuccino and pretended not to be shocked at the Euros that I had to pay for it.

One bite was all it took.  I was in heaven.  As wonderful as my mother's cooking was, especially the erisheri for lunch on the day of departure, this panini was equally awesome in its own way.  I ate slowly, consciously savoring every single bite.  I didn't even leave behind the tiny stalk of parsley!  The cappuccino was a glorious complement to the panini.

Indian food has come to be synonymous anymore with visits to India.  Eating my mother's creations. Or any of my aunts'. I wonder where I will get Indian food after my mother and aunts are gone.  As with anything in life, there is a time and place even for tasty Indian food, I suppose.  "To everything, turn, turn, turn."

I sat for a few more minutes enjoying the taste of the panini and cappuccino that my brain was still imagining.

I looked across at the eatery.  The young woman was carefully and systematically stocking the display shelves with the foods that were being prepared in the open kitchen in the back.

I paused at her counter as I started the walk back to the gate.  She smiled.

"I wanted to tell you that you look pretty."

Apparently that was a lot of English for her.

"I ...?" she asked with a smile and seeking clarification, perhaps in simpler words.  I was reminded of how I failed at conveying my appreciation of the smile that the Tica had at the bakery in Costa Rica.  I went for a simpler sentence.

"You are very pretty."

She thanked me with a smile.

I continued to walk to the gate.

Mother will know about these when I send them a collection of my blog posts!