Back to the story: when we entered the place, it felt like a David Lynch movie. No, really. The restaurant was on a desolated road in the middle of nowhere. It might easily have been in the mountainous region between Afghanistan and Somewhereistan as it was in Maryland. But the restaurant was packed with people. Strange Lynchian people. There was a bar/table in the middle of the room that looked to high up for a normal sized person to sit comfortably. So, of course, there were two midgets seated there uncomfortably. One of them looked suspiciously like the midget from the Twin Peaks Fire Walk movie. I was going to ask him how the movie ends, partly because I don’t remember ever having stayed awake through an entire David Lynch movie and partly because it would make for good blog fodder, but my date reminded me that when dwarves get angry, sometimes they bite, and they probably haven’t had their shots. We’ll talk when I’m wearing shin guards, my little friends!
As if the scene wasn’t odd enough, what transformed it from mildly bizarre (like Twin Peaks) to completely baffling (like Mulholland Drive) was that a tall, freakishly skinny man entered and sat at the table beside me. I was a foot away from skeletor. I had no idea who the scarecrow was, but my date did. It was none other than Michael Chertoff.
To prove that no one like British food, I give you exhibit A: the menuMe: Who the hell is Michael Chertoff?
Date: He’s the head of Homeland Security.
Me: Homeland Security? I saw them open for Modest Mouse. Fcuk
them, they suck!
Date: No, “Homeland Security” as in the agency that makes little old ladies take their orthopedic shoes off in the airport so they check them for bombs.
Me: That’s not him…where’s his Secret Service?
Date: He doesn’t get secret service, only the President gets that.
Me: Huh? That’s just crazy. What if a terrorist was in here, he would be completely vulnerable.
Date: A terrorist wouldn’t be here. A terrorist would be somewhere like Zaytinya eating middle eastern food.
Me: Why couldn’t they be here? Are you saying terrorists don’t like British food?
Date: No one likes british food.
Me: Hmmmm….Good point.Anyway, if you think I’m kidding about how skinny he is. Here is a picture of him that I found on the internet.
Bangers and Mash? Ugh. In case you didn’t know, bangers are like sausages….but more phallic and with less flavor.
Boiled Ham & Cabbage? Does anyone eat this, except on a dare? A dare involving lot’s of money, an immunity challenge or the Fear Factor grand prize?
Anyway, if you’ll note the menu, you’ll see that salad is NOT on the menu. This becomes important in the story later. See how subtle that foreshadowing was? Although I have no formal writing training, I can foreshadow with the best of them. So suck it, Shakespeare!
So my date starts thinking I’m odd(er) because I’m taking a little too keen an interest in his food choices. It feels vaguely like I’m paparazzi trying to sneak a peek at the Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes wedding. (As a non-sequitor, I’d just like to note for the record, that while Tom makes more money than me, I’m a few inches taller than him, not crazy, and probably have larger genitalia…IN YOUR FACE, CRUISE!!!).
Date: Why do you care about what he’s ordering.
Me: That man is in charge of protecting us from the terrorists, and I just don’t feel safe knowing that he’s that under-nourished. Look at him…he’s a manorexic.
From that point on, she fed me updates about his eating habits.
Date: Okay, he sent back the sandwich and fries.
Me: I knew it! He only pretends to eat. No one can be that thin and eat actual food. He obviously has never seen any of those After School Specials with Tracy Gold, ‘cuz he would know that it’s all unhealthy and sh1t.
Date: Oh wait, they’re bringing the sandwich back, but with salad on the side instead of fries.
Me: WHAT? Salad? The only thing standing between us and sexually repressed and politically impotent suicide bombers us is a damn salad-eater? I’m gonna’ say something…he needs a better source of protein than that.
Date: Don’t you dare!
Me: Wait a minute, it just occurred to me that salad isn’t even on the menu. So this guy is using his government influence to get special treatment at this restaurant. What a sickening abuse of power. This is worse than when Dick Cheney uses Air Force One to transport Tranny Prostitutes for the republican convention. Or when he shoots lobbyists in the face.
Date: It’s not an abuse of power. They would probably give you salad too, if you asked for it.
Me: Why would I ask for t a salad! Are you calling me a gay?
After a while, we finished our Irish Burgers, checked each other for signs of Mad Cow Disease and proceeded with our date. To be quite honest with you, I feel less safe when I think about flying to visit relatives for the holidays when I know that are borders are being secured by someone who is ingesting way too much ruffage and not nearly enough proteins or carbs. But what can you do? I can’t hold him down and make him eat the boiled ham and cabbage. First of all, it’s probably a crime, and secondly that sounds like something that you’d use to interrogate prisoners at a secret CIA prison when the waterboarding and choke holds lose their intimidation effect. I think British Cuisine is the secret to the United Kingdom’s historical military prowess. If you’re reared on a diet of bangers and boiled ham, then when you’re stuck in a foxhole and have to eat a rat to survive, it’s probably not that big of an adjustment. In fact, my theory (which I just made up) is that a nation’s military prowess is inversely proportional to it’s culinary skillz. (US, UK, Germany & Soviet Union = bad food and powerful military; Italy, France, China, Mexico = Good food and pathetic military forces). That’s why I think we’ll remain a superpower until we encounter a country with a worse culinary tradition than the US. Who knows? Maybe China or India will popularize deep-fried cow dung or something equally disgusting to overcome the ubiquitous buffalo wings and fries that we abuse our bodies with. But in the meantime, I don’t know how to end this post, so I’ll just mention that I have to pee really badly right now. Bye.
8 comments:
Hilarious. My favorite David Lynch-ian moment in life involved talking on the phone to David Lynch. Is that too meta?
Um, we wouldn't read your dating blog to learn about healthy relationships-- we'd learn what NOT to do. Ha ha.
LMAO that was fuckin hilarious ( i spelled that wrong didnt i?) anyways Boiled Ham & Cabbage, I would eat it. LMAO
Love your Blog, glad your back to an occasional posting. I gotta point out to you that there is a difference between English as in British and IRISH.
That's not British/English food. That's IRISH food, hence the name of the place Irish Inn.
You think Catholic Guilt is bad add on Irish Catholic guilt, now that's living!
And one more thing - the radical arm of the IRA are considered terrorist in the UK, maybe he was scoping the place out for Blair.
Stepping out of lurk mode to give you props on an hysterical post! Was a huge Twin Peaks fan and I don't know if it's because of that or in spite of it, but I find myself in situations all the time wondering, "is that the guy who killed Laura Palmer?" In this case it would have been, "Oh, no... that's not him it's just the Director of Homeland Security." Thanks for the laugh!
Ha! You killed me with this post. I am dead right now writing from beyond the grave to tell you how hilarious it was.
I hope this wasn't a first date! As you said, "no one likes British food." Hope ya weren't trying to impress her! Update?
brunch bird, after Mulholland Drive nothing is too meta.
jamy, thanks. I'm glad that if I can't serve as an example, at least I can serve as a warning.
peach, that's why you would make a good girlfriend.
irish, well I went to catholic school when I was a kid so I think i got enough double doses on guilt to make me an honorary irish.
condo, thanks. the midgets are what made me think Lynch instead of twighlight zone.
kristen, thanks. I hope you're not one of those flesh-eating zombies.
anon, I took her there only because were going swing dancing next door right after. I normally wouldn't inflict british food on a date...or an enemy.
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