Why you ask, do I sometimes seethe with rage and violence? Fly into a blatantly biased rant bombarding the likes of cheffie with enough insults to last both him and his mother a lifetime.

I have just returned from lunch - if you can fucking call it that! Today's lunch was:

Tuesday
Soup Knorr Tomato
Main Dishes Fried Scampi, Tatare Sauce & Lemon
Battered Chicken served with Saute of Spanish Vegetables & Knorr Salsa
Tortellini Ricotta Braised in Tuscany Bean Sauce

Call Order Sirloin Steak with Bernaise sauce
Selection of Omelettes

Now, allow me to walk you through this...

Knorr tomato soup -

For fuck's sake, is it really that difficult to bash up a decent soup. Don't give me the internal marketing mouthfull, I don't want to hear it, you start giving me that, and i'll start wishing I was completely deaf. And what about the health option, I wonder just how much MSG is in a serving of Knorr tomato soup. To top it all off, Knorr tomato soup tastes like shit, full stop, the only people who would find this vile watery, fabricated and processed piss tasty are probably the same breed of half-life that will tell you baked beans are actually enjoyable. Fuck off.

Fried Scampi, Tatare Sauce & Lemon -

Why not tell the truth? Deep fat fried scampi with Hellman's mayonnaise tartare sauce. Now, let's break that down.

The fat in the deep fat frier tastes of everything that is fried in it, so, your fish tastes like chicken and your chicken like fish. Scampi looks rather like a langoustine to me. Now, if you have ever had langoustine, you would be drooling right now, slathering and mopping up your own mess of saliva from your chin. Live and twitching langoustine, the way to anyone's heart, rib cage or no rib cage. You are expecting this to be a fresh bite to eat, something that has not been fucked with at all, the best food has not been fucked with, leave it as it is, cook it as it is, don't put your half-life human mark on it.

A vein in my left eye is twitching. Right on the edge of the eye-lid. It feels as big as a house, as vile as a lump of deep fat fried scampi welded to my eye, characteristic of the congealing and offensive lardy tumour that it is. Food abuse stresses me out. How we came to make things so difficult I'll never know.

Now when ever you get something, that started (or ended) life looking like the picture above (to the left) and turns out on a plate looking like this, don't eat it. What this is, is all the shit and fish maw, fish meal and other squidge that is scraped up from the floor of the fish-monger's, pounded into a little mould (God help that mould if I ever find it, that, and the mould for the baked bean) rolled in something that is masquerading as bread crumbs and served.

If there is so much as a flake of scampi in that breaded fish tumour, I'll eat plate of them, and then expect to writhe around in pain, bleeding internally waiting for a slow death. No doubt the MSG soup would have completely removed the lining from my stomach, de-priming it for a lardy-fish onslaught. Death by scampi.

By this stage, I'm wondering if it's worth going into the tartare sauce. Oh shit, i've started. The tartare is there to mask the flavor of the pounded fish meal nugget. The lemon, as mentioned on the menu, is a fucking lemon wedge, as if mentioning a brightly colored garnish on the menu makes the meal any more enticing or viable.

Battered Chicken served with Sauté of Spanish Vegetables & Knorr Salsa -

This is going to hurt. I had better take a break before I launch into a tyrade as to why people must die, I could kill someone, cheffie, when I am made to even endure reading that on a menu. Seriously, I'm off for a soothing and refreshing cup of tea.

OK, let's take this one nice and easy, treat it with the respect it deserves, like George W holding a nuke at a kiddies party demading a ride on the bouncy castle. This one probably has a thesis or some other academic/scientific research in it. Research into the downfall of man, man and his stupidity, like Arnold Schwarzenegger is a gold mine for cringe-worthy sayings, so this dish can reveal many twisted and perverted recesses of the human mind.

Battered chicken - my God, I should batter the fucking idiot who's idea that was, LART would do well here (Loser Attitude Re-adjustment Tool) namely a baseball-bat heavily embellished with nine-inch nails. I'd dip that chef in tempura batter and crispify him in boiling oil, serve him with his own bloody wedge of lemon.

Battered chicken, can you even imagine what that looks like. Those chickens live a life drenched in their own piss and shit, they can't walk, because they are pumped so full of growth hormones that their legs can't carry them. They have burn-marks on their legs and bodies, from the piss that eventually turns into ammonia. They go through what can only be described as a concentration camp for chickens, scooped up and tossed into a drum that has rubber hands on the inside, those hands literally thrash the feathers off the bird. By way of this spine splintering process, we end up with chicken.

What do we do with it? "Hey, I'm a chef-fie, I do this great thing with chicken, I batter it."

Kill me now, just take me now. This wondrous dish is served with spanish vegetables, sauted - what spanish vegetables, this is a good excuse to use all the red peppers and zucchini in the kitchen. Last week you would find the very same spanish vegetables, prepared and served in the same way in a chinese stir-fry, only last week they were chinese vegetables. I make me sick. I'm not going to go on, there's an MSG salsa that goes along with battered chicken, I don't feel so good.

I don't need to tell you that I didn't eat. I safely went to the pudding altar and doused my anger in sticky toffee pudding and tetra-pack custard. Ah, old comforts, simple un-fucked with basics.