Friday night I found myself late night dining with some friends at Banana’s. This is a place that’s open 24 hours on the weekend and has an amazing gospel brunch where drag queens sing soulfully on Sunday morning. Very entertaining shit.
You can get away with a lot of mediocrity when you're one of the few joints open at 2:30 am. But it’s also nice to have some slight pride in what your serving up and who’s serving it to the public.
When we sat down, my 2 friends warned me that they had the same queen serve them last time and she was most definitely on her period then. Well it must have been exactly a month ago because she was a biatch this time, too!
My fish sandwich came out on a naked bun. I walked over to a bus boy of sorts and asked if he could get me some tarter sauce. A few minutes later he came back over to say they didn’t have any. But the menu says it comes with tarter sauce, I said. I know, so they are making it from scratch.
Oh God. I never send stuff back at a restaurant. Ever. And while whipping up a quick tarter sauce is not rocket science, I was nervous about the extra work going on in the kitchen just for me. I have a huge complex about someone spitting in my food, blowing a snot rocket, or perhaps scratching their balls then touching the food. Given the consistency of the condiment we are speaking about I’m having visions of one of the cooks adding a dollop of his own baby batter into the mayonnaise.
As I am waiting for the tarter sauce, I broke off a piece of the very generous sized fried fish. It tasted like the swamp. I have never had fish that tasted so fishy, but yet also like dirt and pond scum.
My friend sitting next to me tells me that my sandwich smells like a stinky va jay. Nothing like a good vagina reference to really stimulate your appetite. Oh did you take a bite? I asked, thinking maybe I missed it while talking to our other friend. No, I can smell it from right here, he says. Now that’s a pretty tall order of cooter if you ask me. Needless to say I was officially done eating the fish after that comparison, just in time for the tarter sauce to arrive.
We all dunked a fry in the thick white mess just for funsies. It was much more like crisco than mayo. Nobody dared eating it, since I shared my delusions over the shenanigans that could possibly be going on in the back.
We all dunked a fry in the thick white mess just for funsies. It was much more like crisco than mayo. Nobody dared eating it, since I shared my delusions over the shenanigans that could possibly be going on in the back.
Call me crazy, but I prefer a meal where my mind stays completely clear of pretty much everything I've talked about here.
No comments:
Post a Comment