A friend shared his disdain for fancy expensive restaurants and I figured I should share some of my experiences too.
First off, the menus just remind me of mock exams in high school. All those complicated names I can’t pronounce with prices that can pay my rent next to them. No priz, if I want to be embarrassed, I’ll go and hit on girls and get F9’d like everyone else.
I once went for seafood night at Serena under circumstances similar to the ones Bernard (Talkative Rocker) described (someone was footing the bill). When the waitress told me the food was 100k per head, I momentarily forgot I wasn’t the one paying and almost backslid out of there. Instead, I put on my bravest face and pretended this was usual and the total figure pocket change while my companion pulled out some brown notes and paid. Does this come with a bottle of wine at least, I asked as we walked towards our seats. No was her reply. I silently mscchewed but remembered it wasn’t my dime so I made myself comfortable and breathed in and out deeply while I waited for the food to arrive.
One of the staff came and told us it was self-service. This was great considering how small the portions can be when they serve you themselves (Ref: friends post) I walked over to the serving point and grabbed one of those planet-sized plates they had. Before dropping food on it, I asked the chef if I could come for second round. He said no while giving me that ‘look at this uncultured youth’ look. I pointed at him in that ‘Bro, I was kidding’ way and gave my best ‘I’m just messing witchu’ laugh. I wasn’t. Time for Plan B which was to utilise the size of the plate to do some damage.
Now, I need to let you know that I’d never eaten sea food before. My only experience so far had been with lake, river, pond and, maybe, flooded pothole food. I was here to take in as much as possible in one go since this kind of thing was obviously out of my league. There were about 20 dishes available and I wasn’t leaving without tasting all of them. I put a bit of everything and by the time I was done, my plate looked like all the mountains in Uganda had had an orgy without protection and had given birth to the seafood I was about to inhale. I walked back my table at a 70 degrees angle due to the weight of the plate and by the time I got there, the side of my body where the hand that carried the plate was had a 3 pac and was generally generally muscular.
My companion on then other hand had food on like an eighth of the plate. Her response when I gave her the what is the meaning of this look was, mbu, quality over quantity. As if we were not eating the same food, as if there was some rule saying you can’t have both quantity and quality like I was. I mowed through that food like it was my last supper and it had to sustain me for the three days I’d be comatose before I resurrected. Funny enough, I was done before my companion. Weakness just.
When I’d finished throwing the last bone into the heap that had formed behind my seat, I stood up, raised my hands (which still had fork and knife in them ) and roared while the crowd of staff and fellow dinners that had left their duties to witness my eating prowess clapped their hands wildly, whistled, ululated, took selfies, hugged each other and called their loved ones to tell them about the spectacle they had witnessed. OK, that last part didn’t happen.
Anyway, what point was I trying to make? Yes, fancy expensive restaurants are not for some of us. Ok Bye. If you were actually looking for tips of how to eat seafood, see your life (and hopefully, see what I did there…)