I met two people on The Spirit of Washington Dinner Train. They were nice. I was tired of lying.

"I'm a restaurant critic," I said, when pressed for details about my work.

(He works for Boeing, she's a stay-at-home missionary. There wasn't a waiter in sight when I said it.)

With the couple under the impression that I worked for Haliburton, I had spent the Renton-to-Woodinville half of the trip mostly listening to them talk about disappointing food and views.

(About the food: stale rolls, wilted lettuce, gristly prime rib. About the views: some lovely views of Lake Washington and Chateau Ste. Michelle, but lots of old tires and industrial walls of graffiti.)

It was just before dessert on our return trip. The stop at the Columbia Winery seemed brief, and I regretted not following another couple across the road to the Hollywood Tavern for Redhooks and pull-tabs. Back on board, I could no longer stomach lying to the nice people with whom I had broken stale bread.

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