Catch of the day

My breasts are small, and I know it. They don’t get stared at as I walk down the street, they don’t jiggle as I jog, they don’t provide me with much of a flotation device as I try to swim, they don’t do much for me, really. Which was why when the waiter at Catch rubbed up against my left breast not once but twice, I was a little confused.

Quressa chose Catch for her birthday dinner. It’s a stylish place on Market at Castro. The attractive waiters (I didn’t see a single female waitperson) were all dressed in black, there was a baby grand piano perched in a corner high above the dining room floor where a slender man played “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” and the dining space was lit with candles in large square vases. Our waiter was friendly enough. He was patient with us as we ordered and helped accommodate Erin and Tim. There was nothing to suggest that he was a groper.

I started with their Kaffir lime cosmopolitan, which was made with white cranberry juice and tasted more of lime than cranberry. It was tart and strong and good. We ordered their crab cakes and tempura shrimp roll as appetizers. The crab cakes were dense with crab meat, while still being light. They were golden brown and crisp. And, the raisin chutney that came with it was an oddly well-matched accompaniment. The shrimp tempura rolls, which sounded so mouth-watering when the waiter described them, were not so mouth-watering in real life. The rice was hard and too compacted together. There was also much too much going on in that larger-than-my-mouth roll: shrimp tempura, carrots, avocado, seaweed, and smoked salmon. I couldn’t make it in one bite and had to use my knife to cut the roll up into four sections. There was definitely an execution problem with those shrimp rolls.

But the main event happened during the arrival of our entrees. I ordered the grilled monkfish with mushroom risotto. When the waiter came to place my plate in front of me, his right arm brushed against my left breast. I scooted over slightly so that he would have more space to squeeze between me and Erica, and his arm scooted over too, and with each turn of the plate I could feel his arm on me. I assumed it purely to be an accident.

My monkfish came on a huge bed of risotto. The monkfish was fine. It was flakey and chewy, and had just the lightest touch of salt and pepper. The mushroom risotto was creamy and rich, tasting of cheese with a hint of lemon. There were plenty of chunks of mushroom through the risotto too and I picked all of those bits out, leaving a little pile of only rice when I was done.

As our waiter cleared our dishes and swept the table, once again squeezing me up against the wall, he asked whose birthday it was. I told him that it was Quressa’s and wondered how he knew. He just sensed it; he’s that good. And, as he was placing our dessert spoons down in front of us, I felt his arm yet again. He brought out a dessert with a tall candle stuck in it, and we sang “Happy Birthday” not all too terribly.

I mentioned to the table that the waiter was all up on me, and Tim said that that’s what he thought was happening. I was amused. It was the third time in about a week that I had gotten felt up by some random guy. Maybe I should have given this one my number.