"You have to try the duck," said David, drinking from a tall glass of an imported ale. Foam clung to his thick, well-groomed mustache. He set the glass back down on the table with both hands, struggling with the awkward weight like a child might.
I looked at the menu, "Vanilla consomme?' What the hell is that and why do they put it on a duck?" I pondered mostly to myself. "Leif, what are you having?"
"Actually I had my name legally changed to 'Roaming' now," said the other little man before quaffing a microbrewed domestic he was fond of.
"Really? Why the hell would you do that?"
"It's the biz, sweetheart," Roaming muttered as he looked through the menu of their 3o tap beers. He studiously ignored the section of over 100 bottled beers, saying he could taste the difference.
David snorted. "I think consomme is a thing sauce or broth or something. It doesn't matter it is delicious!"
At that point our appetizer of cider-steamed mussels arrived. We had a few before some evil trolls carried them away. They were perfect.
"I told you guys we should only come here during the day." I said. The other two nodded solemnly in agreement.
Roaming said, "I would have, but I spend so much time at work these days. You know, I'm also a guarantee enforcer."
"It's OK," David replied, "I don't think they'll spoil the main course."
The main course was the duck for myself, an elk steak and what appeared to be some kind of noodle dish. Each one had a delicacy and careful sensitivity to the unique combination of flavors the chef introduced to the food.
It could not have been better except that someone unexpectedly and comically punted Leif, excuse me, Roaming, across the room.
"I don't think he's really happy at all," David said, taking another cartoonish gulp of his beer.
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