Category: mmm… food

So there I was at the local produce shop, wandering the aisles and wondering if I should keep blogging and if I’d actually stopped blogging at all. I grabbed a couple of items, and as I stood in line at the checkout, an older woman stepped into line in front of me.

“I wish to return the lettuce,” she stated, matter-of-factly, in a thick eastern-European accent. “I have fridge full of lettuce. So I return it.”

As she ploncked the lettuce in question on the counter, a couple of stray bits fell out the open bag. I expected the shop owner to refuse, but instead she happily gave the woman her money and took back the lettuce.

I was so entranced by the exchange, that, after paying for my things, I just stood there looking at the lettuce stupidly.

“Is there something else?” the shop owner asked.

“Um. N-no,” I hesitated. “I guess this is the part where I leave the shop.”

I had no idea that produce shops had a return policy. Do they offer specials on used vegetables?

Had lunch at Robson Sushi with my brother, Mike.



That’s him.

This is indeed puzzling. Which tastes least like coffee — the stuff from McDonald’s or the stuff from the coffee vending machine?

Try as I might, I just couldn’t finish it.

“Eat your fucking lettuce,” the waiter said, thrusting my emptied breakfast plate back at me. This isn’t normally what you’d expect from your waiter, but this isn’t a normal café. This is the Elbow Room on Davie Street. Their motto: “Food and service is our name, abuse is our game.”

If you’re from Vancouver, you probably know all about the Elbow Room. It’s the only place (that I know of) where the serving staff will freely berate the patrons. It’s all very good-natured yet surreal at the same time.

I’m not big on the insults, but the food is absolutely amazing. I had the BC Benny — two English muffins, cream cheese, smoked salmon, two poached eggs, and hollandaise, all on a bed of lettuce. Mmmmm, hollandaise. I’m drooling at the memory of it.

Anyway, I managed to avoid eating the lettuce on the grounds that it was too healthy and avoided the waiter’s ire. Presently, the people at the next table got into a mock squabble over the tip, with expletives flying, at which point Sabine pitched in with “Oh, you’re offending my virgin ears!”

Without pause, he shot back, “That’s about the only part of you thats still a virgin!”

Well, Sabine may have lost that little exchange, but she can trade insults with the best of them. She gets along best with the smoking, tattooed, soccer-playing guys in Japan. She must be a real shock for the traditional types there.

The people next to us finished the dregs of their coffees, and waiter came back, bellowing “You’re done. Get out.”

After a few more expletives, they settled the bill and left, at which point I noticed that they had left a little note on their table, scribbled on a matchbook: “This is your FUCKING tip!!” (with little happy face.)