Today, the esteemed members of my partnership decided that it was time to bypass the putrid swill in our dining hall (seriously, we get the LOWEST quality ARAMARK caf service; I know its the lowest because I just reviewed our P&L distributions this year. A little research by my main man google, and voila, ARAMARK pricing and we are bottom-fucking-tier) and sail away from the friendly Irish shores of our favorite pub Mollie's. Needless to stay, I fully supported a little adventuring and was pretty excited to see what other culinary delights are hidden amongst the financial institutions, shoe-shine locales and men's clothing stores that dominate Midtown Manhattan.
As we met to decide our locale I should have noticed the storm gathering; specifically the Indian monsoon that was abrewin'. Led by Abhishek "Naan" Sud, the idea of hitting the Indian Buffet was quickly proffered and accepted by everyone -- everyone except yours truly. Let me start by saying this: Indian food is delicious and I thoroughly enjoy it. I do not, however, enjoy Indian food when it has been sitting and coagulating in a metal tray for many hours (how they feed so many people on the sub-continent without leading the world in antacid technology, I do not know). And today, I believe we reached record levels of oozing and discoloration. I'm a team player, so I went ahead and delved into this contemptible mess. Let me tell you, it was as bad as I thought it would be, maybe even a bit worse.
The end result of this ridiculousness: I spent an entire afternoon with stomach churn that was about 10x what Ginger got from her ill timed gastronomic backflips in her last post. What really fucking "grinds my gears," to steal a line from a GREAT Family Guy episode, was that this little foray into that shitbox was PREVENTABLE. Abhishek is Inidan and his wife is Indian. This fucktard eats Indian EVERY-GODDAMN-DAY. And yet, he feels like we do not support his ethnic food of choice because we like to go to a chill bar right by us when we go out and he won't get over it. You know what? THAT'S FUCKING LIFE. We have had the same ongoing debate about cricket as well; it's a pussy sport and he needs to accept that but until the world has kow-tow'd to the greatness that is Indian culture, it won't be enough. Putting that aside, we have also been to this place before, IT SUCKS DONKEY DICK. We all knew it, but because there is nothing else and everyone decided to get their Neville Chamberlain on (because he will whine and whine and whine), we got stuck going there.
There will be no next time for this guy. As Eric Cartman was once so fond of saying: "Fuck you guys, I'm going home..." That is the only response to the stupidity that I am dealing with. By the way, my stomach settled down, finally, at about 4am. Thanks Indian Buffet, you're shittiness may only be surpassed by my desire to burn you to the ground (though the coagulated trays of food are probably a great fire retardant).
No comments:
Post a Comment