The Cheese Trolley
I don’t travel often, but over the years I’ve gone some interesting places. I visited the cloud forests of Costa Rica once—a lush landscape full of tall trees, brilliant butterflies, and alarmingly large bugs. Some lived in the thatch roof of the hut where I stayed. I could hear them munching on the thatch, like rabbits in a garden. Another time, I floated down the Amazon River in an old-fashioned river boat, very adventurous, though I only have a handful of memories of that trip as I was terribly ill for most of it. I’ve visited Bermuda, France, and Scotland too—all lovely places. Out of all those, Scotland is still my favorite.
My husband and I went through a travel agency when we planned our trip to Scotland. We explained our main priorities were to go for lots of walks in the countryside, visit some castles, and eat yummy food. It was the last of these requests that landed us in a beautiful hotel, known for its gourmet restaurant.
Up to that point we’d enjoyed every place we stayed. We’d felt comfortable around the other guests and at ease in our surroundings. But this place was different. The dining room was very formal. Elaborately framed oil paintings lined the walls. Each displayed some unsmiling king or queen who seemed to stare critically at me, my husband, and our two daughters as we took our seats in the center of the room. Glancing around I noticed the other guests wore similar expressions to the kings and queens in the paintings.
We sat stiffly in upright chairs, wondering if our smart casual attire wasn’t quite smart enough. My husband and I spoke in hushed tones and when our oldest daughter, unfazed by the stuffy mood of the room, broke into her regular exuberant conversation we quickly encouraged her to lower her voice to a whisper.
During one of our un-merry meals at this delicious restaurant, the waiter asked if we’d like to see the cheese trolley.
“Excuse me?” I asked. The waiter had a strong French accent and I wasn’t certain I’d heard correctly.
“Would you like to see the Cheese Trolley?” he repeated, looking down his nose at me.
“Oh, the cheese trolley...” I said, as if I’d heard of one before. “Okay…sure, thank you.”
“Very well,” he nodded.
He came back with a golden-rimmed cart. Dainty wedges of cheese were artfully arranged on its glass shelf—each wedge on its own white, porcelain plate. He identified the various cheeses and asked which of them we’d like to try. I didn’t really care which ones because as a rule I like all cheese, but I pointed to a few and my husband and daughters selected a few more. He sliced a tiny section of each of these and served them to us. Then he whisked the cheese trolley back into the kitchen and we began nibbling our selections.
They all tasted like cheeses I’d eaten before under more cheerful circumstances. The difference showed up when we received our bill…
Once we got over the initial shock of the price, we laughed about the cheese trolley, and about our whole experience in the stuffy restaurant.
It’s impossible to find the humor of an awkward situation when my identity rests on my performance or on other people’s opinions of me. But when I remember that I’m secure, that I’m loved and even delighted in by God Himself, then there’s room for joy and laughter. Awkward moments and cringe-worthy memories can be redeemed.
Blessings to you as you remember you are secure in God’s love. He delights in you, so there’s room for laughter even in the awkward moments.
~Amy