Janet Wilde looked up. Did she really have to walk all the way to table nineteen? Her back was killing her and she was over the limit on painkillers already. It was the American. It had to be. English people wouldn't complain so often Americans thought it was their God-given right.
She struggled over. "Yes sir? What seems to be the problem?"
"This steak is cold."
Janet checked her order pad. "You ordered the lightly seasoned, yes?"
"That's right. I didn't expect it to be cold."
"Can you not smell it, sir? Flakes of snow on the breeze? The scent of woodsmoke through the bare branches of oak and birch? You asked for lightly seasoned and it's exactly what you got. This steak is wintered.