Self Inflicted Wounds

I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I do a lot of bitching and moaning on this blog, often complaining about stuff the DFAC folks have done or not done. Or, I whinge about the pukers and poop spreaders who share my accommodations. Of course, most of my trials and tribulations are the fault of others but tonight, I (and my meal companions) made a mess of things on our own.

A Mess o’ Food

Tonight, as A, J and I ate dinner at the Monti, I noticed there was something similar about all of our meals but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It wasn’t what we had or the quality of the food; we each chose different things and some was good and some not so good. As I started snapping pictures for the blog it dawned on me. Everything we had was a sloppy mess. Before you go blaming the DFAC, I should explain that the Monti has gone to an almost totally self serve format. Beyond what the individual dishes look like, how your plate looks once you’ve filled it up is totally up to you. And we royally fucked that up tonight.

Just close your eyes, it'll be fine.

When I saw the Mexican selections in their traditional spot below the “feel like pasta tonight” sign, I knew that was for me. I had a tortilla with taco fixin’s, nachos and a burrito. As usual, I overfilled the tortilla so it oozed meat and cheese and pretty much disintegrated when I tried to pick it up. Abandoning decorum, I embraced my imaginary Hispanic heritage and continued to eat it with my hands. Aye Carumba! It tasted great…although the meat was incredibly salty. The burrito was similarly delicious. I’m sure my tablemates would have been somewhat put off by my disheveled plate and questionable etiquette had they not be facing their own sloppy messes.

J's Disgusting Protein-A-Thon

J’s meal in particular was rather, umm, I guess “awful Iooking” pretty much captures its appearance. He selected the beef brisket and then, for reasons known only to his ancient carnivorous forebears, covered it with a mound of tuna salad. I guess the tuna was ok because he ate it. The brisket, however, was just too tough to cut with a plastic knife so he replaced it with a bowl of taco meat covered with salsa and topped off with chili. Even J conceded that it looked especially unappetizing…right before he shoveled it down.

Blueberry Glue, Banana Non-Pie, and Scab

To give A his props (that’s what we say in the ‘hood), his plate was reasonably civilized but his undoing was the dessert. He went for the blueberry pie the filling of which was rather glue like. It really looked kinda unkempt but that was nothing next to my banana cream “pie”. What kind of fucking pie has no crust? Had I known it was just banana pudding I would have been more vigilant and noticed the goddamn pudding SCAB on it. Yeah…yesterday during one of our sophisticated dinner conversations, either J or A suggested that pudding skin was actually more analogous to a scab than skin. They were right…and “scab” captures the total goddamn disgustedness of it much better. Look at that fucking thing…ugh. Being the brave soul and determined journalist that I am I tasted some of the pudding under the scab and, to add insult to injury, it was bland nothingness. How the hell does one remove banana flavour from a pudding that was almost certainly made from leftover, overripe bananas?

Want a sip?

J also made a complete mess of his beverage. What the hell was he thinking when he combined instant coffee with powdered hot chocolate mix? Sure, a mochaccino sounds all fancy and Starbucky…til you look at it. Where have I seen something that looks like that before?

Other Developments

Nothing to report...so far...

A chose soy milk again today. He was rather unenthusiastic about L’s suggestion that we measure his chest everyday so I’ve decided to create a photo documentary of his journey. Here’s the first installment. Sorry for the lack of definition but I doubt he’d be amenable to wearing tight sweaters rather than the somewhat bulky fleece. He just doesn’t seem to share my love of science.

Bottom Line

Sometimes you’ve got no one to blame but yourself. That’s when you need a scapegoat.

“Another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.”-Stan Laurel