I glanced at Mom and John before I answered in as soft a whisper as I could, “It’s cold.”
The waiter smiled and chuckled. “It is Bouillabaisse!” he said as if that would explain everything.
“Alvin,” John said, trying not to look too embarrassed by my comment, “It is supposed to be cold. It’s a wonderful French stew made of fish, shellfish, onions, tomatoes, white wine, olive oil, and different spices like saffron and garlic.”
“What’s a saffron?” I asked.
John didn’t answer, instead he motioned for the waiter to go ahead and remove my bowl.
A few minutes later Mr. Rawnwe returned to our table, flashing that phony smile of his.
“Did you enjoy the Bouillabaisse?” he asked Mom and John.