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The Tea Maker
My wife and I have a golden rule. We have quite a few actually but one of them is never to stop for food at a motorway service area. However, we were recently duped when one of them advertised Freshly Prepared Food so we thought we’d give it a go. It was a bad idea.
I ordered something like Aberdeen Angus Beef in a Goulash Sauce served on a bed of Basmati Rice with Today’s Special Vegetables on the side.
“That’ll be fifteen minutes, Sir.” said the serving assistant. “Please take a seat.”
“Can I speak to the chef?” I asked but my wife interrupted me.
“It’s ok,” she said, “He doesn’t want to speak to the chef.”
She then grabbed my elbow and led me away to a far-off corner but I increased the volume of my voice so that the serving assistant, and passing drivers on the motorway, could still hear me say, “But I do my dear. I want to know how the fuck he can prepare Aberdeen Angus Beef in a Goulash Sauce served on a bed of Basmati Rice with Today’s Special Vegetables on the side, fresh, from scratch, in twenty fucken minutes.”
Half-an-hour later my Freshly Prepared Motorway Food arrived, duly defrosted, reheated and cold-plated. Even the number of rice grains on my plate were exactly the same as the guy’s on the next table. I know this, because we both agreed to ignore our wives and count them.
We did this very loudly and refused to stop, even when the manager ordered us to. We also refused to leave until the police arrived.
The Tea Maker
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