[stylist] Try The Baklava (revised and cleaned up I hope)

[Miss Thea]

As this was the shorter of the two articles, I thought I’d go for a revision.
This article falls just short of 600 words.
Please let me know if I’ve begun to overcome my tendency to repetition.
Thanks for any help.
Thea

Try The Baklava



On the first above-zero day in March, the sun called me out of my isolation. After an appointment, I white-caned it down the quiet street, the afternoon stretching out before me. The cool, sunny air sent waves of savory come-ons. I walked into the first place in the plaza, Terry’s Restaurant and Bar.

  

I pushed my way through a glass door, and found a seat by the entrance. 

Soon after I sat down, a friendly server came by and asked if I’d like a cup of coffee. I asked for Decaf, but as the kitchen was too small to carry two coffee-makers, I chose orange juice on ice.

I opened the musty, fragrant Braille book I’d brought and placed it on the table. The left edge touched the leftmost wall. Shafts of sun came through the metal Venetian blinds to warm my fingers. I started to read.  



While reading, I sat back in my chair and listened to the place. People spoke from two rows of tables—the one I was sitting at, and one to my right, with nice walking space between.

“Here’s your orange juice, hon,” she said, startling me a little, as I didn’t realize she was there. 

“Thanks.” Ah. The first, tangy sip of vitamins refreshed my throat. 

“What would you like to eat?”

“What’s on offer?”

I chose the Eggs Bennie, reserving the Suvlaki for the next time I visited Terry’s Restaurant and Bar.

I read, listened to the quiet conversation, and Toronto’s at-work station. It suited the cozy place quite well, The uncluttered feel relaxed me.

The announcer spoke energetically between songs about the gorgeous day. People around me began talking just a little louder, laughing, as if they, too had been affected by the first decent day in the year. The happiness spread through me. The Eggs Bennie came, and I concentrated on the homemade breakfast. 

“Everything here is homemade,” said the server, as she placed the dish in front of me.

Throughout the meal, she stopped by to ask if things were satisfactory.

“You bet,” I replied each time.

I’d heard my server talking to others, heard them choosing from a wide variety that included burgers, chicken suvlaki and Greek salad.

“Is this a Greek restaurant?” I asked when she came to take the clean plate away

“Not really,” she said, “though it’s Greek-owned. This is a family-owned restaurant. Can I interest you in dessert?”

“In lieu of a filthy rich lifestyle? Sure.”

It was a toss-up between the honey walnut cake, and the baklava. The baklava won out.

My server presented me with a roughly triangular pile of onion-skin thin phyllo pastry layered with crushed almonds and walnuts, saturated in syrup. The honey and cinnamon smell wafted up to me. It didn’t stand a chance. I slid my fork under a layer of phyllo. I’d heard of it before, but had never known exactly what the pastry was like. It was so delicate, and unbelievably thin. After that, I tasted the contrasting meaty nuts. The rest of it was savored, bite by bite, in all its glorious layers.  

It had the taste of some of those grain cereals lathered in honey. 



I made sure to tell my server that I would return to Terry’s Restaurant and Bar. 

Though I never sampled the bar, I found the restaurant with its friendly server, its low-key crowd, and its unobtrusive music, a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend an afternoon.

Not only that, the very capable chef gave me a piece of baklava to take home.