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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 1997-11-05, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 5,1997. PAGE 5. Arthur Black V. Looking for a Meat and Potatoes sign I hate to cook. I really hate doing dishes. You'd think those two aversions would make me a dedicated restaurant fancier, but nope. I hate restaurants too. Well, I don't hate them exactly. It's just that for me, the dining out experience usually makes me wish I'd stayed home with a peanut-butter-and-jam sandwich watching Madame Benoit and taking notes. First you have the restaurant names. Do they have to be so pretentious? A name like Swiss Chalet conjures up visions of Heidi-style milkmaid/waitresses decked out in dirndls and pigtails, backed up by bearded guys in leather shorts blowing into 20-foot horns. But what do you get at Swiss Chalet? A joint that serves passable chicken in a basket in an atmosphere redolent of an airport terminal. It's not just the Swiss. There are Italian 'Trattorias' and Greek 'Tabemas' and French 'Cafes' and Spanish 'Casas' — or the very worst — places that go by the name of the guy who owns them. Salvatore's. Chez Pierre-Luc. Bleh. I'm still looking for the place with the winking neon sign that says MEAT AND POTATOES. Then there is the waiter problem. I had i International Scene The tragedy of Yugoslavia Early in my journalistic career I went off to Yugoslavia to see for myself what a communist country looked like. The country, under Marshal Josip Tito, had just turfed out the Russians and gotten away with it. It was the only country ever to defy Stalin. Tito had studied in Moscow before World War II and, even though he did not want the Russians telling him how to run his country, he still was convinced that communism was the best path to follow. Journalists were still pretty thin on the ground when I arrived and, to tell the truth, the official Yugoslav news agency was not sure what to do with me. As a result of some efforts on my behalf, I found myself being driven around in a car and allowed to visit a state farm to see how the local version of communism was working. I think the farmers were as interested in me, as an outsider, as I was in them. At any rate it was difficult to say at times just who was doing the interviewing. I should point out that this was the first country I visited where I was unable to speak the local language. This meant that every time I did an interview I had to determine if we had a language in common or if I would need an interpreter. Most of the time I was able to make do with German. Along the coast my Italian came in handy while I even did one in Spanish (the person had lived for years in Argentina before returning to Yugoslavia). On occasion I used Russian or just sat down at a table in a steakhouse the other night when a guy in a white shirt comes up, sits down across from me and, with a big smile says, "Hi, my name is Andy and I'll be your server tonight" Well, hi Andy. My name's Arthur but you can call me Artie baby. And this is Sonya. She's a belly dancer from Latvia but she's got a PhD in neurosurgery. I'm in the international diamond business myself which means I'm licensed to carry a firearm in public. As a matter of fact I've got a .44 Colt Python under the table aimed at your groin even as we speak. Now do you think you could bring us a couple of menus, Andy old pal? That's what I wish I'd said. Being Canadian I just mumbled something incoherent and played with my water glass. But it put me off my feed. Which brings us to the bill. How the hell are you supposed to calculate a 15 per cent tip of a sum while making sure the greedhead government doesn't get any more than the 15 per cent it's already skimmed off the top? If I wanted to spend the evening doing math I’d have stayed home and worked on my income tax return. Still, we've got it easy here in Canada. If I ever get to Hungary there's a restaurant in Budapest that I intend to avoid. It's called the Dreher Halaszcsarda. A couple of Danish tourists decided to take their dates there one evening. After a so-so dinner and a couple of drinks, they called for By Raymond Canon English. In short, my languages got a real workout. I have always been amazed that Yugoslavia was able to stay united for as long as it did. The country was formed out of the ashes of World War I and reminds me of Heinz 57 varieties. In the north there are the Slovenians and the Croatians. In the centre are the Serbians, Bosnians, Montenegrins and a large Albanian minority. In the south are the Macedonians, all of which adds up to a volatile collection of minorities. Tito was able to hold the country together by dint of his strong personality and his willingness to compromise so that no one group became too strong. Added to that was the constant threat of the Soviet Union since the country shares a border with Hungary, Rumania and Bulgaria, all Russian satellites. Even al that by the time I finished my tour I wondered whether the Yugoslavs had fought each other more than they did the Germans during World War II. The Croats and the Serbs were at each other's throat all during the war and it is to Tito's credit that he realized it would not take much to set them off again. As we now all know to our sorrow, he was quite right. Perhaps it was wrong to expect a country with so many minorities to be able to remain cohesive. Even Czechoslovakia, with only two groups, saw fit to split up; what hope could there be for the Yugoslavs with their six, some of which seem to have had it in for each other for centuries. It takes a national will to co-operate; that will was sadly lacking. When the breakup finally did come the the bill. The waiter gave it to them. When they broke it down it came to: Four steak dinners, $1,279. Four cognacs, $460. Round of drinks for musical trio, $4,448. With taxes, the total came to $8,300 - and ahem, that would be in U.S. dollars, of course. "Those are our night prices," the restaurant manager asserted breezily. He explained that the Dreher Halaszcsarda has a policy of multiplying listed prices by a factor of 10 after 7 p.m. Especially, one suspects, when the customers happen to be gullible-looking tourists. Reminds me of the story about a Giant Panda walking into a restaurant. He orders a huge five-course meal, scoffs it all down and calls for the cheque. The waiter brings the cheque, at which point the Giant Panda hauls out a handgun and shoots the waiter. As the Giant Panda saunters out the door the maitre'd rushes up and says "What did you do that for?" The Panda says, "Hey man — I'm a Panda. Look it up." The Panda leaves the restaurant. The maitre'd calls for an encyclopedia and searches under "P". When he gets to "Panda" he finds: "A large furry Asian mammal that eats shoots and leaves." Slovenians in the north were the first to leave. Since they were relatively small in number compared with either the Croatians or Serbians, they saw little point in sticking around to be used as a pawn by either of the other two groups. One of the most important cities in Yugoslavia, Ljubljlana, was in their territory and served admirably as a capital for the new country. It is some indication of the progress they have made since then that there is even talk that they may, in a few years, become part of NATO. The other small part to break away was Macedonia in the south. They, too, wanted to avoid being exploited by the big groups and so off they went. Even at that they had trouble from a direction they least expected - the Greeks. Greece and Macedonia share a common border in the south and the Greeks resented the Macedonians for wanting to use the name in their country; Athens felt that it belonged to them. They did all sorts of things to prevent the word Macedonia from being used as the name of the country until outside pressure forced them to cool their protests. However, the Macedonians are still not out of the woods as they need the Greek ports to export their goods. All of this adds up to one thing - don't look for continued peace and quiet in what used to be Yugoslavia. A Final Thought If you want to see a shorter winter, borrow money that's due in the spring. The Send the bully running Power struggles and co-operation. In the neighbourhood where I grew up, I was part of a large circle of kids. Every day after school we rushed home, dumped our books on the table, changed out of our good clothes (Yes, we dressed up for school in those days) and converged on common ground for the fun of a game of baseball or touch football. When the call came for supper we rushed home, usually with a friend or two in tow, gobbled down everything in sight, finagled our way out of clean-up then escaped out the door and into the night. There was a freedom to do what we chose — and there were fights when others saw things a different way. When two sides see one thing conversely, debate will consequently follow. I can remember raging conflicts over how games should be run, what rules were the right ones, the best ones, the most fair to all concerned. Eventually, as we all ultimately wanted to get on with the business of frivolity, we compromised. There was one girl, however, who forever browbeated, whose presence usually meant bullying, sulking and guilt trips. She insisted on power and her need for control often left us following in frustration. That is until the day we woke up and counted the players. There were about 10 of us against one of her, so the next lime she suggested there would be problems if we didn't play it her way, we decided to see what she had planned. The brick wall of unified opposition blocked her. Without our acquiesance she was on her own and powerless, so she went running home. I've been attending all-candidates meetings in the area recently and, as my young friends and I used to, following in frustration seems to be the single sentiment of all candidates. Where similar events in previous campaigns often brought rousing debate among the candidates the politicians of this election agree on everything — that they don't want any of the changes coming, and that they don't know what the future holds. It makes it extremely difficult to vote for an individual whose platform you are in favour of, when it is one constructed on questions. As one candidate said, "I probably have as many questions as most of you." Like the troublemaker in our group, the Harris government seems to thrive not just on creating turmoil and dissension but on confusing municipal leaders into submission. They agree amalgamation won't save money, but are split by community on how or if to proceed. They can't hide their head in the sand for fear something happens while they're not looking, but reluctantly shape the new playing field before the bully does it for them. They are baffled as to how the money will be raised for the downsized services, such as policing, without an increase in taxes. They are concerned about maintaining a level of service that taxpayers want in villages and townships which have been the backbone of this province, and which may soon cease to exist. They should be commended for their commitment. They have put themselves into a game with a bully, that they probably can't win. But with the right people in, who knows. Sometimes a united conviction is enough to send a bully running.