PONCY FOOD!

Waiter! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Some friends of mine took me to a very posh restaurant.

‘LA MAISON DE BURT’ had recently acquired its first Michelin star, so I knew roughly what to expect. For example, as a gastronome myself, I knew to eat before I left home. I also knew to take a pair of binoculars with me so that I would be in a better position to see the food on the plate.

Our waiter appeared terribly snooty looking. Anyone would have thought one in my party had farted big time. Wine started at £29:00 a bottle. It was young and impudent, and reminded me of myself at that age.

My starter arrived, and on a piece of drift wood. I had ordered the avocado/chilly mousse on a bed of salad with French toast. It was very nice, however I could have done with a second mouthful. First course over with, we all had sorbets. I would have got more on a lolly from Iceland!

My main arrived on a piece of slate approximately one hour later. It was duck breast, fondant potatoes and tiny squares of caramelised parsnips. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, peering through the binoculars, ‘but this surely can’t be the main course!’

‘Oh but it is,’ our waiter replied.

‘It is? But this looks to me more like a SAMPLE than the actual meal! And I’ve been waiting ages for it. What, did you run out of plates? Less poncification my man, and more bloody food!’

‘But sir…’

‘Don’t but sir me, my stomach feels like my throat’s been cut! And artwork should be left to artists, after all, the grub is merely going in one hole and out the other!’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Waiter, I said…food is merely S**T waiting to happen! Now where’s the nearest Burger King?’