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When Srajan Ebaen was a little boy he loved to help in his uncle’s in French restaurant. They lived in a small German village, filled with many pragmatic eateries that served large meals with sausages and potato.  The uncle opened his “La Pergola” as he felt that the  tired assembly workers form the neighboring BMW manufacturing facility are in desperate needs for some embellishment of their boring Bavarian life. The uncle’s ploy was success and the restaurant was booming.

During the first year the uncle spent a lot of efforts cooking, searching for better vendors and training the employees to serve the food with the distinctive French’s “Oo lala!” During these years the little Srajan desperately wanted a new bicycle and he started to help his uncle. Initially he was washing dishes but then uncle allowed the little Srajan to serve food to customers. That was a very prodigious moment in the life of the little Srajan as he had discovered his life-long calling.

“The food is not what is cooked and eaten but what is served…” – his uncle taught little Srajan – “…do not worry what we cook, juts smile when you bring the food out, be polite, say ‘bon appetite’ and do not forget to lick own lips when you are putting the plates on the tables.” Srajan did just that. Soon little Srajan was riding a new bicycle, making all kids in his village to envy him.

The restaurant business was flourishing and the uncle spent less and less time on kitchen. Soon, the uncle stopped cooking and employed a family of Slovakian refugees. They did not cook well but at that time Srajan was in his teens and his good delivering and presentation skills were very much refined. He was running across the tables, jingliering with 11 dishes in one hand, lighting the customers’ cigars with other hand and dropping compliments to women. His hospitable charm and his ability to sexy position the Slovakian’s bad food within those pretty French ornamented dishes was top notch and those tiered hungry BMW workers, hypnotized with the Srajan’s presentational ballets, did not feel that the food was not tasty anymore.

Then the difficult times came. The European economy was down; the uncle got sick and needed a lot of money for his medications. The Slovakian refugees were long gone and now in the “La Pergola’s” kitchen the East Germany convicts-escapee were broiling the dead rats and marinated peppers in pig’s fertilizers. That required a new round of Srajan efforts. Srajan was not little boy anymore but a mature and creative maître d'. He kept inventing the new and new means to hide the misery of the “La Pergola” food. The special light effects, the incredible coupons promotions, the fish in the soup whistling the “Ode to Joy”, the walking across the restaurant on his hands holding the dishes in his legs… and many-many other techniques Srajan used in order to keep the customer attention on his servicing skills and do not let them to acknowledge the actual taste of the food they swallowed…

As anything else it came to it’s end. Another day the 4.000 cockroaches that lived in “La Pergola” declared a war to the cockroaches in a Polish restaurant, attacked them, defeated them and took home 400.000 prisoners. The cockroaches were not able to be confined on kitchen anymore and they flooded to the dining aria, and since the cockroaches did not eat the “La Pergola” food they were forced to eat lipsticks from the customer’s purses.

The Srajans waiter’s acrobatics was not able to save the situation anymore - the angry villagers caught the “La Pergola” workers and beat them long and violently, whipping them with BMW’s timing belts.  Srajan was forced to run away from the Village and then out of Germany, as each passing BMW reminded him the heavy scars he has on his body. He ran to United States where he was trying to making living working is the small circuses. It was not very successful as clowns vacancies were filled and for other jobs Srajan have no qualifications. Srajan decided to run, secluding himself on a island - Mr. Ebaen moved to Cyprus and nowadays he is practicing audio-sales.

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