Advanced notice: I don’t have photographic evidence of this because my camera didn’t deserve that kind of punishment.
A friend and I were scheduled to assemble for an important business dinner. Because of the urgency of the matter, we did not have time to bicker over the restaurant choice, so we availed seating at whichever purveyor of sustenance was closest to our parking space. Which brought us face to face with Mr. Chips. A restaurant with a legacy older than most of our members here.
It was a clean and tidy environment, everything looked like it was freshly polished, the wait staff was extremely courteous, and the food was made as if the chef had mapped out an aggressive campaign designed to tarnish our meals forever.
We initially ordered steaks. The waiter congratulated us on a wonderful choice and sauntered off to the kitchen. However, he soon returned with the grim news that only one steak remained. Instead of sharing like silly schoolchildren, we chose to peruse the menu again. On it, I tragically saw the word “chicken” and “steak” together without “cannot and will not ever be” sandwiched in between them.
My fellow diner said we’ll order 1 chicken and 1 beef. I had to remind myself that I had too many witnesses and a public execution, however deserved, is frowned upon. I chose instead to take him out in his sleep.
We ended up ordering a beef burger and, it pains me to have to clarify, a beef steak with the tacit understanding that we’d share halves of each.
We also requested that the burger be made into a double patty, and the aforementioned wait staff, who were extremely courteous accommodated the request and went to retrieve the meal.
First came the double patty cheeseburger. I must admit, the fries were heavenly. So far, the restaurant lived up to the hype. Then we took a gander at the burger, which was either 2 poorly made chappli kabab or very efficiently burnt burger patties. Apparently, the chef thought, if meat can be well-done, it can be extremely well done, even congratulationed.
It felt like nobody had ordered a burger before and they improvised one on the spot. However, it wasn’t the worst burger I’ve had though (looking at you KFC).
Then followed a sizzling platter of a wonderful smelling steak, cutting into which brought us to the realization that we had somehow angered the chef, and this was the form his vengeance took. It was a large burger patty made out of sinewy ground beef (patthoN wala qeema) smushed flat.
It smelled great and would have been a wonderful addition to the burger we ordered. However, it wasn’t steak.
Now, you might be asking, “who goes to Mr. Chips for Steak and Burgers?”, to which I respond, “I don’t know you like that, please stop following me around, sir!”
I am privileged by the will of the Almighty to be able to afford to eat out, so I am just grateful to have food in my plate. However, today I feel like this food made inappropriate advances at me, and a complaint to HR is warranted.
Would go back for the fries, and the generational war that I’ve declared against that chef.