Concern For The Tastebuds Of Gamblers
Wednesday, 31 March 2010
I was in the Vic the other night and John Garfield ordered a plate of chips. It made me think I really wanted a plate of chips. I’m so suggestible.
But when the plate came, John looked at the chips and said they looked strange. He was suspicious. They weren’t the right sort of colour. They didn’t look like chips.
The waitress urged him to try one.
He tried one and nearly spat it out.
“No, no!” he said. “These taste all wrong. Take them back to the kitchen. I’ll have something else.”
But I still kept on daydreaming about chips. I decided to order a plate anyway.
“Maybe you shouldn’t”, said the waitress (one of the new ones whose names I don’t know). “The chips aren’t going down well tonight. People keep sending them back.”
I told her I’d gone there to gamble. I ordered a plate regardless.
Twenty minutes later, she brought the plate. And she said, “The chef says he hopes they’re okay and he’s asked me to apologize if they’re a bit strange. The problem is that yesterday we ran out of McCains. So, tonight, he’s having to make all the chips out of potato.”