A strange event unfolded before me the other evening while out at dinner. It was odd enough to prompt me to compose a column about it. The event, or nonevent, spurred a good deal of table-talk discussion between my wife and friends dining with us. Oddly enough, we couldn’t stop noticing and talking about two strangers at a nearby table furiously engaged in the act of not discussing anything. Certainly not at all with each other.

Allow me to set the scene. New Year’s Eve and my wife and I with another couple are dining at a trendy new restaurant smack dab in the middle of a trendy new shopping mall. Opting to eat out at a relatively upscale restaurant situated in a mall is rather oxymoronic. Especially when you find yourself yards from a crowded food court replete with screaming babies, overflowing trash receptacles, and the rich aroma of liquefied trans-fat everywhere. Such juxtaposition. One can savor filet mignon, broiled salmon almandine or glazed duck a l’orange in the aforementioned restaurant, while just steps away lies the land of the endless chicken finger, salty fries, cold pizza and fruit smoothies that start at  $5.95. America truly is a land of opportunity.

But let’s return to the moment at the restaurant that both amused and amazed us. There was a couple seated directly across from our table. I’d estimate each to be in their late fifties to early sixties, in casual but expensive clothing, well groomed, made up and manicured to the max. The lady in question wore a fair amount of suburban “bling” on her wrists, ankles, earlobes and around her neck; her better half, along with a bright yellow golf cardigan, donned shiny loafers with light colored socks and a Rolex, probably worth more than my 2000 Volvo (you haven’t seen my Volvo lately, trust me).

They sat at a small table for two, conducive one would think for romantic interlude, canoodling, kibitzing or at least hubby and wife small talk, the kind that couples should engage in when they dine out. We all now how crazy things can get at home around dinner time, how infrequently adults get the chance to sit down to a meal and actually talk with each other about their day at work, the state of the economy, taking the car in for service, crabgrass.

So here’s what went down and I kid you not. During the entire meal---from rolls, water and salad to linguini, steak tips, tiramisu and cappuccino with plenty of artificial sweetener, nary a word between them was spoken. They didn’t seem upset or angry with each other. Since sign language wasn’t being used, we assumed they were not a deaf couple; neither of them appeared to have had serious oral surgery that day or any obvious impediments to speech.

No, these two decided going out to dinner offered them the time and opportunity to do what I had done earlier in the day at my desk. And for a short while in the rest room. Both the husband and wife decided this would be an ideal time to read the newspaper. Not just any newspaper. The New York Times. And not just the front page but all four sections, above and below the fold.

The male took to the business section for a time while the female scanned the arts page. They both took turns with the front section; husband coveted the sports; wife poured over the city spread. Through the entire meal pages were turned and folded and held down with breadbaskets and salad bowls for better viewing. Swapping of sections occurred but was done so without oral communication of any kind. Each seemed to sense when it was time to cede a section of the paper to the other. It reminded me of those nature shows with wild monkeys picking insects off their hairy bodies, occasionally nodding to their mate of the moment to pass a banana or two.

The only spoken words were directed to the waitress. Husband would ask for a glass of wine; a few minutes later wife would sternly suggest that waitress bring her meal back to the kitchen for reheating. This went on straight through to coffee and dessert. One spooned through cheesecake while checking the stocks while the other slurped foam searching for familiar names and faces in the obituary section.

The couple concluded their dinner like a couple of monks who had taken a vow of silence (monks never eat that well of course) and finally paid the bill and left. Most unusual, they never even discussed the tab, how much to tip or who would pay. Hubby whipped out the platinum card and off they went, carefully folding the papers back into their original creased format, eliminating all wrinkles (they must both do exceptionally well with road maps and beach towels). These two protected their newspaper as if it were part of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Their marriage, in that microcosmic moment, sure reminded me of something you’d find floating in the Dead Sea. Now I’m not much of a talker. Most men in relationships probably aren’t. But the idea of reading through a meal with my special lady present? Not good.

We all crave quiet, solitude and personal reflection from time to time. Noise pollution and man made interruptions haunt nearly every household dinner table. With televisions on, homework assignments causing distress, the whining that comes with the territory when you have teenagers in the house, the phone calls from parents, in-laws, political parties and charities desperate for help, it’s amazing that any couple can ever just sit down to a comfortable meal and chat for a few moments together. Going out to a nice restaurant would seem the perfect opportunity for intimate, personal, one-on-one conversation. Perhaps expecting two people who have been together for a number of years to be cooing and wooing while making goo goo eyes at each other might be a bit much. But one would think that discussing something other than the roof that needs fixing or whether you really want to go to the Nussbaum bar mitzvah (considering you hate the little Nussbaum brat) is kind of nice at a time and place like that. You’re at a fancy eatery with your honey; you’re not sitting with strangers at a truck stop at 2 in the morning. 

Maybe with these two readers, the man was a talk show host and the woman a prominent psychiatrist. You know, people who listen or talk all day for a living might feel they need a break. Even from each other, even when out to dinner. I guess for some, news of bombings and bus strikes is more interesting. They did everything but the crossword puzzle and Sudoku. Had they more cappuccino they probably would have whipped out their Mont Blancs and gone to town.

Does any of this matter? No, it didn’t to them. It did, however, make for wonderful dinner conversation over at my table. Two people out for an evening without as much as a syllable between them. Oh yes, there was one brief moment when the wife stared over her bifocals at her husband for a good twenty seconds. I was paying attention. It wasn’t a romantic gaze. She seemed to look at him with a slightly accusatory glance. The section of her newspaper was open to the “Dear Abby” column. Hmm, I wonder what wifey was thinking? Not that she’ll ever say.