Since it is customary for me to review my canteen meal on the rare occasion I feel compelled to dine there, here are my thoughts and findings on this grey and bleak May afternoon. The atmosphere in the canteen was heavy and sombre. Surrounded by grey walls, decorated with foods we would never taste, the other prisoners and I shuffled along, trays lowered almost as a mark of respect for an event we knew nothing about. Having asked for the Spaghetti Bolognese, our prison cook filled the metaphoric bowl with gruel. The spaghetti, thickly clumped, the bolognese spilt over with no finesse, no care. Shoved at me, I half expected to be yelled at to move along. I added chilli-flakes and pre-grated parmesan liberally, this would be my salvation, this would be my nutrition. I spied the puddings. A dry affair and congealed custard from 1967. My hope and spirit was being systematically broken at every stage. So this is it. I heartily spooned sauce and pasta into my face, swallowing without chewing, eating without tasting. Mere moments passed, but for me a lifetime of regret. My plate empty, I sat. Hungry. -- Gavin Laking, OTB912, Wed, 20th May 12:49.
I had Morrison's "Signature" range Lamb Moussaka for my dinner today. If you are vegetarian, try it. I swear the lamb part was inspiration from a neighbouring field to the factory because there wasn't any in it unless on the microgram/undetectable scale. Crucially, it had big pieces of tomato and aubergine in it. Ideal for their distinctive taste when coated with bechamel sauce. I'm branching into overall food critique. I'm a fat bastard, so why should I limit myself to the canteen?
I have to be honest. The meatballs weren't that bad. A slightly crunchy outer shell, with a meaty dense inner core. Trace herbs and spices were detected, though I suspect their inclusion was more to meet specification rather than to demonstrate enthusiasm and passion during their production. I added one flat table spoon (one dessert spoon equiv.) of chilli seasoning/flakes and two sachets of pepper to bring the Arrabiata sauce to within flavour detection range. At least 60% of the pasta was still pliable and the parmesan cheese was extremely fine grained which made chewing easy.
Oh where to start, where to start. As I pushed the slurry around my plate, I took time to reflect on my life choices. A chicken curry without chicken. Like a gambler on a losing streak, every decision compounding the effect of the last. A plate of rice with the pan of water used to cook it. Each time I rise, I promise to do better, but steadily I fall back to my old ways. No poppadums. No diced onions. I turn to friends, they've all left me. No flavour, no spice. My destiny? A spiral of despair, with each revolution disappointment and shame. What next? I don't know, but the chilli flakes were good.
One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was walking along the beach with a vending machine. Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand: One belonging to him, and the other to the vending machine. When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life. This really bothered him and he questioned the vending machine about it. "Vending machine, You said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints. I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me." The vending machine replied, "My son, my precious child, I love you and would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."
'Tis my only solace in the cruel canteen these days, for that which I find at the bottom of a jar. The capsicum and pepper seeds and dried flakes of chilli providing tiny islands of flavour where I can bask during the arduous battle against this sea of insipid churn. Today's Jalfrezi made me yearn for the sand and sun, the thoughts of being shipwrecked with nothing but the torn clothes on my body, the fight for survival, the zest, excited me. My lifted spirits allowing me to endure the gruel served. I'd be free of this magnolia emulsion of meals, a simile itself; in ode to the chicken soup - itself, devoid of chicken, lest the particles of bird I sought slipped unimpeded by my teeth...
Chips were marginally better today as they were cooked, but sadly any hope that the meal could be at least 'correct' were dashed on sampling the chilli-con-carne. Call me overdramatic, but with strained bile for texture, and a no flavour whatsoever, I find myself considering an olfactory transplant. Ever-prepared to do battle, I decided to add some of the jarred content which is available to the dish in the hopes that I may have found the spice that I desired. Instead, another blow to my satisfaction as I choked down endless capsicum seeds hoping for tongue tingling pleasure and receiving chaff and lint for my trouble. I regret not being able to provide the light of hope for others, but in this darkness, at least we are together. Grade: F- Notes: Please see me.
New Vacancy: Flavouring. Must be available for all canteen meals. You must be positive, outgoing and lively. Applicable to sauces and dishes of any type you will provide what is missing from our current offerings. Our business has recently (in the last 40,000 years) had to adapt to the desires of humanity to be satisfied both orally and gastronomically. Standard rate of pay pro-rata of the vast profits we make on meals. Working hours typically between 12-1, weekdays. Apply today!
Only bubbling hot sodium hydroxide can cleanse the congealed mess that my insides must be after this lunchtime's heart attack on a plate. The dried crust of the beans, crunched between my jaws, swilled inadequately with dehydrated tomatoes and solid egg yolk. Reprieve from this was granted, albeit briefly, with tepid mushrooms. The hash browns were tasty, to those who appreciate potato as a fried and oven baked grease cake. Fortunately, my saviour this lunch time was time-honoured salt; fresh from it's sachet and altogether quite salty. The pepper, however, was devoid of flavour. Much like this lunchtime affair.
Lunch was remarkable today. Lard condensed to resemble various pig-based substances. I of course ate like a phenom, my shape now resembling that of a slightly deflated spheroid.
I am feeling violated. But the violation is nothing compared to canteen food today.
Banality con Cardboard for lunch. I. Cannot. Wait.
i waited once Yeah me too, it was ~347 BC, Aristotle and I had just finished at the Platonic Academy as I recall. I think it was for the bus to Sheffield. Oh look at me name dropping again. I'm sorry.
I thought they were alkaline not acidic, I didn't know acid went into negative units
"The day I became a human litmus test" by Mr Iodine.
How do change "My mouth puckered up like a cat's ar*e, whilst my taste buds discovered pH 25" to be safe for work and into words full of mirth?
I shall not be eating the Christmas lunch. I fear further yuletide disappointment following my recent letter from Santa.
Next month's salary- 50p- says the pastabake looks nothing like that, and the amount of mushroom could be measured in parts-per-million. I know we're not supposed to divulge how much we earn, but I know I earn more than most here, so it doesn't matter.
Never think about the taste. Its like knowing the odds.
Damn, I ran out of time. Luckily, Bootes Void provides the perfect metaphor for the flavour of the chicken curry from today's menu.
Guessing its the watery fish in the blandest batter with yesterdays chips and last weeks peas for dinner. sigh
Pineapple: win. Tastes the same going down as coming up
Oh what joy doth canteen bringeth? Pray a plate of emulsion lest my buds be disappointed thru lack of consistency!
I was a thing before I was butter.
set the channel topic: I hope he chokes on that cereal / Just kidding, it doesnt have to be cereal
I've just spontaneously transformed into an antelope.
The weirdest thing I've ever put in a wrap... well there was this one time at band camp...
I look forward to reviewing the sausage plait with beach pebbles and stalactites.
Spite in assumed beef stock with powdered cardboard lightly toasted. Road grit cunningly painted green to resemble a pod-based vegetable. 10/10 for expectations met. 1/10 for nutrition or food content. Tomorrow I shall dine on my own offal.
Fletcher has a cup of bile. I mean soup.
I think I might have salad today, gotta look after my figure, y'know.
@purinkle will like this: Horseshit gammon with unfried egg.
I could eat a horse between two straw matresses.