Category: mmm… food

While ordering a McEvil McBreakfast at McDonald’s this morning:

CASHIER: Hi. Can I take your order please?

CUBICLE DWELLER: Yes, I’d like a BLT bagel meal to go, please. With black coffee.

CASHIER: Is that the meal or just the bagel?

CUBICLE DWELLER: The meal. With black coffee.

CASHIER: Would you like to Super Size that?

CUBICLE DWELLER: No.

CASHIER: With cream or sugar?

CUBICLE DWELLER: No. Black, please.

CASHIER: And will that be for here or to go?

Yesterday afternoon I met Sabine and her coworkers at their hotel. What a surreal moment. After months of communicating almost entirely by Internet chat, here’s Sabine in person, introducing me to the people who have been the principal characters in her weblog. And I didn’t have a thing to say.

I enjoy learning the odd phrase of Japanese. Like “Sumimasen ga wakarimasen” Sorry, I don’t understand. Or “Watashiwa Canada-jin desu” I am a Canadian person. Or “Ohayo gozaimasu” You’re up early. (Apologies for my spelling.)

There I was with the perfect opportunity to try out a couple of phrases, or at least gesticulate my way through a conversation, but all I could do was smile and nod stupidly. Sabine says that I know “sushi Japanese”. So basically, I know everything on the menu at a Japanese restaurant, but I can’t muddle myself through the most basic introductions.

On the other hand, I can make a mean okonomiyaki.

I stumbled across the list of local food establishment closures. This is a truly disturbing list. I’ve been to a couple of these restaurants, like Tanpopo Japanese Restaurant. Should I have checked the tempura roll for legs? And Milestones on Denman… “Food not protected from contamination?” Contamination from what? And what does “insanitary conditions” mean?

Ick ick ick ick ick ick ick ick and once more ick.

Are they “Sandwich Artists” as they claim, or mere sandwich hacks? As you may know, I take sandwiches seriously. After all, in the cubicle, there is no food item more perfect than the sandwich.

Soup? The slurping will irritate your neighbors and soup may splash onto your keyboard. Pizza? The grease will get all over everything, and the aroma will drive co-workers into a feeding frenzy that you probably won’t survive. Sushi? Well, I’ll go for sushi too, but the price is a cubicle that smells like fish for the entire afternoon.

With this in mind, you’ll understand how off-putting it is for me to go to Subway and be given a sub-standard sandwich (pun intended… oh, I’m just so, so witty. Tee hee hee. Ahem.). I ordered the new teriyaki chicken sub instead of my usual roast beef.

Onto a bed of cheesy slices went the limp, strips of formed chicken — a close inspection revealed air bubbles in the meat. I think the idustrial process they use to create this chicken-like substance also creates those big colourful bathroom sponges. Onto the chicken-like substance went piles of wilted lettuce and a couple of token vegetables, followed by the crowning glory: the sweet onion sauce. The “artist” enthusiastically filled any empty spaces between the lettuce shreds, so that when it came time to eat the sub, the oil had completely soaked through the bread and flowed freely out the ends.

Next time, I’ll ask for the onion sauce on the side as a chaser.

Finally, to add insult to injury — and I’m just nit-picking now — their napkins all display the motto “eat fresh”. Eat fresh what? Or do they mean us to eat freshly? I’ll have to ask their sandwich artist next time I feel like an oily sandwich.

How many trendy coffee bars are there in your town? Too many Starbucks to count? I wouldn’t be surprised. Starbucks shops seem to sprout from street corners like weeds.

In my daily commute, I pass at least five Starbucks on Robson Street (no exaggeration). I especially like the corner of Robson and Thurlow where there are two Starbucks kitty-corner to each other. Add to that the scores of Blenz, Second Cup, and independent coffee bars on the same street. Imagine the volume of coffee that is consumed daily in this city. Everybody must be so completely wired that I wonder how Vancouver has a reputation for being really laid back.

I don’t understand why people linger on the sofas, reading the paper. Can’t they do that at home? Some are meeting friends over a coffee, which is pleasant, but most are alone on the sofa or in the corner. And there’s always the artsy type with the laptop, typing up the next great novel to be rejected by the publisher. And the grey-suited guy reading the business section of the Globe and Mail. And the mother with the stroller, reading in the tabloid about Prince Harry and his alleged pot habit while the little one is distracted with a biscotti. And the unknown actor with the Georgia Straight, intently searching the personals for someone without warts. And the woman with the bifocals, reading a Danielle Steele novel between sips of chai.

Thanks to the blessed coffee vending machine, I can get caffinated for free while I’m at the cube farm. Otherwise, I only drink coffee at home. Am I missing out on something?