GIVE ME MY OWN F*CKING PEPPER GRINDER!
This is a full blown rant - be warned - turn away now if you are easily offended or like a lot of cant and hypocrisy with your food.
Picture the scene…
You are out for a meal in a ‘nice’ restaurant - you know, the kind where there are table cloths (clean), silverware and dimmed lighting. Maybe it was recommended to you by a friend.
All is going well, your party has perused the menu, managed to find food that appeals, there is the occasional waft of good food around you, and people at surrounding tables appear to be having a good time and eating well.
Lo! Your food appears - it looks appetising as it’s laid out before you.
BUT WAIT!
Your waiting person then leans towards you in confidential manner, lifts a supercilious eyebrow and in a quiet but earnest voice enquires,
“Would you like pepper?”
Of course, at least one of you will desire the touch of this exclusive, rare and hideously expensive spice, and so The Pepper Ceremony begins…
Your table attendant will stride off with an air of purpose to the nether reaches of the establishment - where on earth do they keep the stuff? The safe? The cellar? He will then return with a pepper mill the size of a pillar of Hercules. (After all he couldn’t make that much fuss about an ordinary sized pepper mill, could he?)
In hushed and reverent tones he will ask which diners exactly require the magic dust. He will lean toward each in turn, brandishing the mill with great skill - turning the grinder to the exact degree needed to rain down those gorgeous flakes of ground pepper. After a twist or two, he looks enquiringly - “More?”
To each supplicant in turn, he devotes his attention before striding away, removing the precious substance to safety with a hushed ‘bon appetit’.
God help you if you want parmesan - same performance - even God won’t help you if you want more of either of these things.
What on earth is all this crap?
We all have pepper mills at home - you can buy pepper for next to nothing in the supermarket.
When I’m eating, sometimes I decide after a few minutes that I want MORE pepper.
Maybe they are saving me from dealing with a dangerous substance - it’s OK guys, I’ll take the risk! I know, I know, I just like to live dangerously.
So imagine, you’re paying £70 a person, it’s a ‘nice’ restaurant - (more on that in another rant) - but they’re going to ration your pepper. Not your salt, or anything else, just the pepper and parmesan. Why? What on earth are they thinking? Why do we put up with this?
From now on whenever I eat out I am taking my own bloody pepper grinder to the meal - at the opportune moment - I will reveal it’s existence from my trailer - (my mill will obviously have to be bigger and more impressive than theirs, so will need adequate transportation) - and foil their silly ceremony.
I declare - I am a grown up - I am paying a lot of money for what may turn out to be a barely adequate meal - I have brought up children - I work - I run a home - I pay taxes - I CAN HANDLE MY OWN PEPPER - so
GIVE ME MY OWN F*CKING PEPPER GRINDER ON THE TABLE!
