Next came the mother of all main courses, the lip-smacking, fat-oozing slab of pork, done to tender perfection, its skin roasted to a thick, crunchy golden brown crust, served with sides of vegetables and potatoes. Unlike everything else that followed, this did not disappoint.
Dessert was vanilla ice cream, one scoop. Now, normally, having just been fed that gorgeous piece of meat laced with all that fat, I would not even dare suggest that this did not live up to the rest of the meal or our reasonable expectations. However, we had spied earlier another lady, obviously a regular, finishing off her set lunch with a generous slice of cheesecake. I had assumed that knowledge by informing the lady who waited on us that I would do without the cheesecake but my two dining companions would be fine with it. She returned, after having conferred with her boss (who obviously did not hold us in the same regard of the other regular, despite our almost-weekly visit) brandishing three humble scoops of ice cream and announced apologetically that for us, "Dessert is ice cream." Perhaps, we should have argued. Bulldozed our way through, kicked and screamed so we'd get that damn cheesecake we deserved. But I honestly believe they should've had better sense to recognize returning regulars and not impose clearly visible double standards, regardless of whether they are tai-tais or not.