The Arugula Pergola, Part I

I often visit restaurants on the recommendation of friends or other food critics. In the case of the Arugula Pergola, however, I was compelled to visit because of a warning. I had been receiving a number of anonymous e-mails from close friends in the food community, who told me that although my wide-ranging exploration of the eatery world was commendable, there was one place I should never visit... the Arugula Pergola. I was told that the building site on which the Perg' was erected had once been the scene of a grisly and brutal crime. This lovely stone-and-timber cuisinery was once a horrifying house of terror. Numerous ghost enthusiasts have told me that the...leftovers,if you will, of this crime's victims were still aromatic in this upscale venue. To enter the Arugula Pergola, I was assured, was to offer my mind as just one more sacrifice to the phantom maniac of Arugula Pergola. Near the entrance of the restaurant, a woman in her early seventies wearing an orange vest was seated at a card table laid out with cheaply printed flyers and brochures. A banner hung on the table stating, "Beware the curse of the Arugula!" I walked swiftly past her, averting my eyes, though I did drop a few pieces of loose change into the slotted plastic lid on the can she shook like an Eliotian "dead geranium" in my face. The label on the can stated that the purpose was to raise funds for "future victims of the curse," and since I could not be completely sure I would not at some point need some assistance on that end, I let a few pennies plummet to the bottom of the can. Walking in, I immediately felt a "cold spot." This may have been due to my poor sense of direction's leading me through the kitchen doors and into a walk-in freezer. Have you ever smelled a freezer full of freezer-burn vegetables? Yecch. Not a fan. When I was rescued from the freezer, I made my way to the hostess station. I see that "hostess" calls up various opportunities for wordplay such as "ghostess" but I will not pursue them. I was led to my table beneath a wagon-wheel chandelier hung with fake cobwebs. The waitron when he finally arrived was dressed like some kind of old-west mortician. Clearly someone had decided to turn the upscale Pergola into some sort of sensationalistic ghost tour. I couldn't have been more disappointed. "Would you care for any appetizers?" the waitron asked, rather pryingly, in my opinion. "We have a wonder panko-encrusted fried popsicle. It's hauntingly refreshing!" I ordered the popsicle and a glass of kiwi jelly and perused the menu. Apparently the Pergola had "gone electronic," because I was told there were no paper menu's (I know, there's an apostrophe there--I've gone into this ad nauseum)and I was to use the touch screen. I was happily "pinching" the icons (a gesture which makes people look like some annoying combination of magician and symphony conductor) when... The power went out. [TO BE CONTINUED]