Chopped Liver – I Want To Make It With Chew

I decided to give my mum a special treat last night. She can babysit and let mummy and daddy go out together for a romantic dinner. (Now, who should I take?)

I said, Hey Mum, no matter that you’re in agony with arthritis and couldn’t get up to help anyone or anything should they wake up. He’d probably look after you.

So we went to an Indian restaurant. It’s one that I have seen many times and wanted to try but never got round to it – looked great.

We hadn’t booked. It was already getting a bit late – and we had to go to Pheebox’s flat to feed her lion cat – and stand on its toes just to hear it squeal – very soft underfoot.

Got to the restaurant. It was packed. No free tables. We were told a table would be free in about 15 minutes – ok, that’s fine, we’ll wait… and watch everybody else receiving their delicious-looking food as we get hungrier. But, oh boy, it did look good. There is another Indian restaurant across the road, but we had our hearts set on this one.

I thought I would bump into Smiler, as I knew this was his area. But no. Instead, as we were finally led to our table, who should be sitting next to us but my Dentist? That’s right the very same dentist from the story “Last Night A Dentist Saved My Life”. I’m sure that’s documented in an early post – as this was an integral start point to the whole liver transplant saga.

And so we ordered our food. Eh, we’ll have a couple of popadoms to start, followed by these samosa things, and as a main course, we’ll go for the Restaurant Special dish and a lamb karahi.

“Will you be wanting one basket of popadoms at a time?” “Or both together?”

“Eh, sorry? What was that?”

Basically my request for 2 popadoms was interpreted as 2 baskets of 4 each. Why? Am I really the first person in history to ask for 2 popadoms, when what he wants is – 2 popadoms? Apparently so.

The starter came and went – a bit dull they were too. And then the main course. We were putting it onto our plates when the waiter came up and ask the obligatory “Is everything all right?”

hmm... bit stringy

“Yes thanks”, I replied, having not yet started eating the stuff. The lamb was made from somebody’s shoe. There was nothing Special about the restaurant special. The Peshwari nan made no effort at all – other to double the price – to be different to normal nan – save for some sweet stuff stuck in the middle.

B was so put off by the whole experience she didn’t want me to ask for a replacement dish – she had lost interest. Sending food back to be replaced by an alternative is something I have to admit I am a bit reticent about doing. I have heard stories y’see. They may be true. They may be mythical. But they are real in my head. So I don’t tend to do it.

However, when the waiter came to collect my plates, he saw the food we had left and enquired. I said it was too tough to eat and even showed him the huge chunk I had removed from my… look this is getting a bit gruesome now – I’d rather talk about canulas, blood and transplants.

The waiter took my plate of regurgitated meat and showed it to the manager – and I thought to myself, if they have any interest in making me want to return to this restaurant, they will not charge me for that dish.

They charged me for that dish.

Now there… are 3…. steps to… carry a donor card – ooh, wap wap!
Just follow steps 1, 2 and 3.

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Explore posts in the same categories: british liver trust, just giving, Liver Transplant, organ donor

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