Check, please.

Yesterday, the office decided to go out for lunch to celebrate a deal that’s supposed to close, our temp’s final week with us, Valentine’s Day…just to celebrate. There were nine of us and our server was on — with the prearranged gratuity plus the potential for more on a party that size, I would be, too.

After we sat down with our menus he gave us all a two-minute sermon on the wonderful qualities of the Hawaiian escolar with crab mashed potatoes, lemon butter and asparagus. It is a very meaty fish, not too fishy-tasting, and quite rare. His enthusiasm was enough for nearly half of our diners to order it. I stuck with my beloved cioppino, which had a base of creamy polenta instead of the typical orzo pasta. Damn tasty; I’d order it again if it weren’t on my dime, and I’ll make it at home when it is.

Shortly after we returned to the office, three of the four who had the escolar were out for the count, holding their stuffed tummies and complaining of chills, sweats, digestive issues and other such fun stuff. As the sacrificial lamb secretary, I was the one to call the restaurant and tell them about our troubles. They took my story down and went to talk to the chef and general manager about our sickies.

The response? “The escolar is a very, very rich fish, and if someone is not used to eating such rich foods they may feel histamine symptoms or like they have the stomach flu.”

No…really? It’s supposed to feel like that. I mean, no kidding? Then maybe you shouldn’t push the fish quite so hard?