On Tuesday evening, M spun the DfacOmatic in accordance with policy and up came the Boardwalk despite having been set to around 1% probability. L was feeling a little under the weather and insisted that we tempt fate and go to a DFAC instead. “It’s gonna be a disaster” M predicted…
It was then that I had to inform L “You’re the scape-person. If we find anything wrong with the meal, it’s your fault.” “Don’t you mean goat? Scapegoat?” M ridiculously inquired. I jumped to L’s defence, “Jesus, M, she’s not a fucking goat. That’s rather insulting, I should think”. Metaphors are the black sheep of the English language as far as I’m concerned.
L accepted her fate and off we went to the Cambridge. In a feeble attempt to get back in our good graces, L suggested that we should eat at the Boardwalk on Saturday evening and have a “Pizza Challenge” to determine the best pizza in KAF. Since that day we’ve refined the protocols for this adventure in science. A, M, L and I will each go to one of the four pizza joints, Mamma Mia’s, KAF Deli Fresh, Kabob House and Pizza Hut. We’ll buy the pizza of our choice then meet near Downtown on the boardwalk to try them out. L suggested “We should have a blind taste test”. “All we need to do is find a blind guy” said M. I vetoed that ridiculous idea “I am not licking a blind guy”. Instead, I’ll be making up rating forms to include such things as taste, presentation, value for money, absence of fried egg, etc. Depending upon prep time, I anticipate sitting down to eat at around 1900. If you want to join us and participate in the challenge, BYO pizza.
Anyhow, our meal at Cambridge on Tuesday was a pretty much a disaster. You can tell it’s all shite when you keep running into each other wandering aimlessly from steamline to steamline holding nothing on your trays but despair. A was so disheartened that he went for the “Dried out bun, process cheese and frozen butter sandwich”. I eventually went for the beef something or other. L tried to latch onto my “the beef is ok” comment to redeem herself, “See, it’s not a disaster, the beef is good!”. “By ok, I meant that I can cut it”, I said, bursting her bubble.
I further instilled in her a momentary sense of vindication by saying “The apple, cabbage and onion salad is the best part of the meal”. “See, see, the salad’s good. It’s not a disaster!” “L,” I cruelly replied, “I just said the best part of my meal was the fucking apple, cabbage and onion salad. What does that tell you?”. “It ’tis rather sad, innit”, she admitted, crestfallen. That was fun.
I do have to admit, however, that the apple crisp was, for the first time, properly made with real apples. The crisp/filling ratio was almost bang on. So, the meal wasn’t a total loss…but we’ll never tell L that.
“Neither blame nor praise yourself.” – Plutarch