Ah the foodie freaks – yes we have all come across the cult figures that think that eating purified air particles will be the next best thing and will guarantee that you will be far more superior than anyone else. Yes, drinking kelp fresh from the French Alpines, only picked by virginal hands and stored in a freshly made cloud is going to work wonders for your pompous ass. Who wants to be with one of those guys? Yes please.. hand me a quinoa goja sea urchin shot with extra kale – I love drinking shit which gives me a bit more chance to be imperious to the rest of the scum of the world. How could you not drink coffee that is made from cat shit – don’t you dare give me instant – that is just against my religion (ok that statement is a bit true to me – instant coffee is just wrong!).
Imagine going out on a date with one of these self-righteous jerks – yep I am putting my hand up here (a bit awkward typing with one hand). Imagine being invited to a restaurant that according to the jerk was 5 star and it was so hip and happening, that you had to be on a special guest list. Right – yes I can tell that this date is going to be sooooo much fun.
So here I am sitting in what can only be described as an abandoned warehouse in some backend street in Whoop Whoop. Apparently its called Industrial Chic – yes so chic that it still had the windows with the same grime from 1935. Hmm ever heard of food hygiene standards? This pompous git thought it was best thing since using panini instead of white bread for toast.
Not only was Pompous thinking that he was one of the judges from Masterchef (the dude was a forklift operator), telling me how he has been to this restaurant and “oh have you tried this top chef’s food – what he can do with a pig trotter and the remnants of decaying vegetables in the bottom of your fridge is ammmmmazzzzziiiinnnngggg” – I thought that surely my taste buds would be in for a treat – as he says “be prepared for a mouth orgasm”. Rigghhhttt – yes gutter thoughts were in my head with that statement.
Apparently I was ill-equipped with my lack of experience in ordering food that Pompous decided that he had to order food for me. Yes, who knew better what I fancied to eat than someone else. Its really hard to think for one’s self obviously – to read a menu and think yep I feel like eating the salmon – how did I cope before without him? I have never eaten a meal before, I just lived on air. Politely I said to him that I am quite fine in figuring out what I would like to eat, to which he started doing the whole bombardment of “you should try this and that”. Whoa, calm down dude! I can make a decision for myself.
So after him rabbiting on about his own self-importance, I thought “am I actually here? why do I get the guys that just like talking about themselves?”, I finally got my entree. Yes here I was ready for this mind blowing sensation that will just ruin my taste buds for anything else. I looked at the plate – saw 2 tiny char-grilled scallops with olive oil splatted around it and a dollop of mushed up cauliflower. It was so small that I thought I maybe this is the anorexia size not the entree. The scallops were over cooked (trust me, I am a seafood wizard) and the cauliflower puree (its called mash people!), was cold and lumpy. It was disgusting! Pompous was ranting on about how that was divine and made by the Gods themselves. Really… are we eating the same food? Then proceeded to tell me that the scallops were perfectly cooked – really… you like chewing on rubber? And for the price that they were charging, I would have expected it to be hand fed to me by a naked Adonis.
Another hour passed and I am still waiting for the main meal that would totally blow my mind apart so that there would be brain matter splattered on the walls. It was torture, not only listening to Pompous dribble on about his own self-importance, but the sound of my stomach groaning for more food was deafening. Finally the pièce de résistance arrived – yes, I think they were trying to tell me that I had a fat ass as again I got the anorexic meal. There lying on my plate was a slither of salmon that was so oily and under cooked, some foaming thingie that I thought that the chef was shaving at the same time and left his shaving foam on my plate (tasted the same as well), and two small potato gems. I think my stomach went “are you shitting me?” Pompous was again ranting on about how wonderful this meal was and all I could think was “I wonder if I could get a Pizza delivered here” Thankfully I did not order dessert, I don’t think I could handle more disappointment.
The end of the date could not come quick enough, and finally the bill arrived. Now I am one of those girls who pays her own way when I am out on a date (that way I am not obligated). Sheesh – the bill was so ridiculous that I thought it was an invoice from my bank asking me for my mortgage payment. Ouch! My credit card groaned when it was swiped through the machine.
Needless to say, after raiding the coin container in the car console, I finally managed to get some food via the McDonalds drive through. Ahh Maccas!
NEXT!
Freaks need not apply 