Tuesday, 1 December 2009

Restaurant Guide To Slobbering

There I was in the best chinese restaurant in my home town of Slobbering. It is also the worst. Actually, there is only one. In my childhood, I thought there were two but it later turned out the second one The Texaco was a garage, not a chinese restaurant after all. Unleaded is not a way of cooking duck. This restaurant is called Happiness. Apparently the originally name The Golden Vomit didn't bring in the punters, so they changed it.

Anyhow, they do the very best finger-bowl in town. I was spooning my way through my third helping, and looking forward to the hot napkins. I tell you, there is nothing to beat the taste of a freshly prepared hot napkin. But my napkin course was due to be politely interrupted. There was a terrible crash and the door flew off it's hinges.

"Roth", I beamed, a piece of escaped lemon clinging to my teeth. My smile faded when I noticed the red gloopy substance dripping from his attire. He could be injured. He still owes me a fiver.

He spotted one of my concerns and waved it away. "I've been stuffed crust diving", he said, flicking a small disk of pepperoni from his collar.

I was much relieved. It explained the gloopy red stuff, the wetsuit, snorkel and mask. Meeting Roth for the first time you'd have never have thought he was such an extreme sports adrenaline junkie, and you'd have been right. He isn't. He spends much of his waking time in The Wrong Topping Pizzeria next door leaping from the edge of deep pizzas into lashings of red sauce. They attempt to discourage Roth from attending buffets. To date they've tried: leaving the doors locked; opening at 2am; and more recently strange toppings.

"Have you eaten?", he asked. "The buffet isn't good. Sprout, seafood and chocolate sprinkles".

I looked around the interior of Happiness. The tables, the empty finger bowls, the wreckage of the door lying on the floor. The napkin warmer was just getting going. One of the waiters had a small piece of pepperoni stuck to his forehead. He looked sad.

"No", I lied, leaving a pile of Yugoslav Dinar for the staff of the Happiness. The waiter still looked sad.

"Good", he said, and removed his wetsuit to reveal a perfect pin-striped suit. He looked ready to sell double glazing, used cars or insurance. "They've opened a new restaurant. Next door I think."

"What's it called?", I ask.

"I think it is the Euthanasia Curry House"

"I like the sound of that".


  1. Ah yes, simpler times. I think The Euth' has done its best to kill us on four different occasions, not including that time with the landmine; I really should have brought my wallet instead of singing for my supper. The Maitre D' still limps whenever he hears Jailhouse Rock.

  2. But of COURSE Indigo would be nattily dressed beneath the wet suit. How could we expect anything else? Can't wait to hear how things go at the Euthanasia Curry House... sounds like just what the Indigo ordered. Poor waiters!

  3. Leaving a long defunct currency as a tip was a masterstroke, but expect the Slovakian Mafia to be after you now.

  4. I like!
    Very easy to visualize the events. Also dredged up the memory of one of my old local Chinese restaurants. It was when I lived in west London, it was called the 'Turnham Green Chinese' :)


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