30 Mititei at Doina
A memory from 1973, by Ovi Catanescu, together with Corso Pirjol*
It was sometime toward the fall of 1973. We had finished high school, and the university entrance exams were over.
It wasn’t exactly the happiest time in our lives.
I had tried to get into the Cinematography program to study film camera operation and hadn’t made it. Corso had applied to Architecture, while Socrate would go on to attend a post-secondary school for foreign trade. For those of us who hadn’t made it into university, military service was looming somewhere in the near future.
One day, the three of us — Corso, Socrate, and I — got together and ended up at the outdoor summer garden of Doina Restaurant.
At the time, restaurants had a rule that beer had to be served with food. There were exceptions, of course, and some waiters didn’t enforce the rule too strictly. We had been to Doina many times before and had run into this problem. And since none of us had much money, we had to consider the cost of food if we wanted to have a few beers.
That day, it was just the three of us sitting at the table, a little discouraged after the entrance exams and wondering what was going to happen to us next.
Especially when it came to the army.
That was when we made a bet: whoever went into the army first would, when he returned, treat the other two to mititei and beer.
Since we had to order something to eat anyway, we decided on mititei.
“How many should we get?”
I don’t remember who did the calculation, but somehow it seemed perfectly reasonable:
“Ten each!”
There were three of us.
Thirty mititei.
The waiter looked at us.
“All of them on one platter?”
“Yes!”
We got our beers and waited.
After a while, the waiter appeared carrying a large oval stainless-steel platter piled high with what looked like a mountain of mititei.
Only then, when we saw all thirty of them together, did we realize what a ridiculous thing we had done.
Still, we started bravely.
The bravery didn’t last very long.
Corso remembers giving up around his sixth mititel. I think I made it to about the same point.
Thank goodness for Socrate.
Corso and I were smaller guys back then, while Socrate stood a full head taller than either of us and, fortunately, had an appetite to match. He finished his share and then started helping us with what we could no longer eat.
We don’t remember exactly how many mititei Socrate ended up eating, but one thing is certain: he saved the honor of the table — and the platter of thirty mititei.
Our bet, however, was never fulfilled.
Our paths began to separate.
Corso was accepted into Architecture and graduated. Socrate attended a school for foreign trade. I tried at least twice to get into the Cinematography program without success, and I believe that, in the end, I was the first of the three of us to leave for military service.
So, technically speaking, I lost the bet.
I just don’t remember ever buying them the meal I had promised.
And the story of how I ended up in the army is an adventure all by itself.
Sadly, Socrate is no longer with us to tell his side of the story — and perhaps settle, once and for all, exactly how many of those thirty mititei he actually ate.
More than fifty years have passed since that day. Those years now seem very far away, but Corso and I still remember the summer garden at Doina, Socrate, and especially the moment when the waiter looked at three young guys who barely had enough money for beer and asked, probably unable to believe what he had heard:
“All of them on one platter?”
“Yes. Thirty!”
And more than half a century later, we still remember them.
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