Immediately we sense that something is different. We walk into a restaurant across the street from St. Stephen's Cathedral. It is a small cafe with a unique interior: exposed pipes, old fashioned lights that remind us of our lamp in our den--bare bulbs Thomas Edison style.
Our table has three chairs as if someone knew we were bringing Theo along, who sits quietly in the beginning. I think--maybe we're going to be able to have a good lunch.
A waiter comes over with the menu and doesn't blink an eye when he sees Theo. Dan order the daily special--loin of pork with stuffing and a rich brown gravy, Bavaria style. I order a flatbread with onions, bacon and cheese. The flatbread is as thin as a Holy Communion wafer they give out during Catholic mass.
As we're waiting, Dan reads the brochure on the table and translates the German. This cafe is a Holy Cafe, owned and operated by the Cathedral across the street. Clergy, people who work in the cathedral, and people who attend Mass eat there. The portions are large and the price is right.
As I wait for my food, I ponder the idea of a holy cafe. Is the food blessed before it is served to the parishioners? Do they make you say a prayer before you eat? The waiter delivers the food, and as Dan is staring down at his meal and Theo is gawking at it, sniffing and sniffing, I see the waiter make a quick sign of the cross and then before I can say a word, he pulls a flask out of his pocket and sprinkles water on the meal.
Dan sees nothing. I see everything. He's too busy examining the bottle of regular water.
"Did you see that?"
"What?"
"I thought I saw him . . . I know I saw him . . ." but I stop. Dan already thinks I'm a bit crazy. Will he even believe a waiter would bless the food with holy water?
I look over at Theo. He is staring now at Dan's food. Did he see it, too? The blessing bestowed upon the pork? The flask? The water?
He gives me one of those glances that seems to say-hey, what's up with this? But then he does a little shake and meows. Is it more important to eat the food than discuss catholic rituals?
The food is delicious. Dan gives Theo some of his pork, so he's happy. He doesn't seem to care if his food is blessed or not.
"So this cafe is actually run by the church," Dan says to our waiter as he grapples with the idea.
Our waiter points to some other patrons. "They just went to service."
We glance around, but honestly they look like ordinary people.
Before we leave, I follow the waiter's instructions to the bathroom. That's when I'm convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt. The sink is gold-plated. I'm not kidding. Later I think--I should have taken a photo of this. No one is going to believe it!
"What a great meal," Dan says.
Theo has finished and is now licking the gravy off his mouth and whiskers.
I, born and raised a Catholic, am astonished. "This is the first time I've ever eaten in a holy cafe." As we're leaving, Theo is bouncing around more than usual. Dan is in a good mood. I'm trying to see if I feel any differently. And, maybe, perhaps I do.
PS We'll be off next week--busy traveling.
