Something in Your Food - 7/21

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Brian
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Something in Your Food - 7/21

Postby Brian » Mon Sep 20, 2010 7:20 am


Brian
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Something in Your Food - 7/21

Postby Brian » Mon Sep 20, 2010 7:20 am

When you are eating out at your favorite restaurant, you find something unexpected in your food. The owner comes over, looking frazzled, and begs, “Please, I can explain!” Write a creative/exciting explanation for the object you discovered in your meal.

You can post your response (750 words or fewer) here.

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RE: Something in Your Food - 7/21

Postby naterdog » Wed Sep 22, 2010 4:51 am

It was Robin’s birthday and she chose to go out with some friends at Leslie’s restaurant called The Upland Meat Factory. These two friends of mine had not yet met and even when they would meet they would not know that I knew them both.

Robin is very outgoing and told me and probably everyone she knows about her incredible encounter. She had been eating at the Upland Meat factory with friends on her birthday lunch. She placed a large bite into her burger. She began to chew but felt something on her tongue. Whatever it was it was not suppose to be there.

She was very curious as to what she had. It appeared to be gold.

“What do you think this is?” she showed it to some friends.

“It looks to be a wedding ring,” Marge responded. She reached over to grasp it. Then she poured some water from her drinking glass over it to clean it off.

They were all looking intently at it now. Inside the band it said what Marge was looking to see; 24 carrot gold.

Robin’s eyes got huge with disbelief. The others around the table knew of no surprises. Everyone wondered how that ring could have gotten into the meal.

When the wait staff came around to replenish the drinks Robins grabbed her arm and asked excitedly, “do you know anything about the wedding band that was in my food?”

The lady narrowed her eyes wondering what Robin meant until she saw the gold band Robin was showing her.

The waitress had no answer though. “I’ll ask Leslie about it. She’s the owner and takes most of the phone calls. If someone placed it there she would know.”

Leslie came out to see to what the waitress was referring. When Leslie arrived at the table she apologized profusely about there being something foreign in the food. This is a great embarrassment to any restaurant owner. She was about to discount the meal when she looked down at the item.

Not much registered in her mind at first. But it appeared to her to be real. She raised it up to look. “Wow this is a real ring.”

With that she investigated more closely. As she did her hands began to shake and her eyes began to water. There was something going on that Robin said she didn’t understand. Then finally with excitement that was unconcealed she exclaimed, “This is impossible.”

“What is it?” the ladies wanted to know.

It took Leslies a few moments to respond. “Incredible.” She shook her head in disbelief. Still tears came down her cheek. Then she started to explain the mystery, stopping every once in a while to compose herself.

It was 25 years ago that I opened up this business. All of our equipment was new and I admit I was not sure how to use most of it. When it was time to start grinding meat, I was very cautious. I had heard terrible stories about meat grinders. One restaurant owner told me it would be a good idea to not wear a wedding ring while working the machine.

This was 25 years ago. Yeah, that’s right 1986 was when we started and I lost the ring right after that.

I had taken it off to work. I sat it on the meat grinder. At some point while I was working it disappeared. My husband Jim and I searched for several hours. It still seemed to have evaporated. We haven’t seen it since.

I don’t know how or why but somehow it has decided to reappear.

“It seems just as likely to be another ring…” one of the ladies was starting to say.

Leslie interrupted and pointed to the inside. There were words written that the ladies hadn’t seen when they looked before, “Jim and Leslie.”

“We all started to feel emotional now,” Robin told me. “Sure enough this was the missing ring. It be a lost and found story of 25 years.”

Being cute Robin told Leslie, “Well, it’s my birthday, do I get anything for finding your ring?”

The question was an innocent joke. But Leslie was so pleased by her recovered ring that she explained, “I was going to do the customary thing and refund you meal being that you found something in it.” But since it’s your birthday and you found my ring, you all eat free today.”

Leslie asked me a few days later, “Have you heard my amazing story?”

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RE: Something in Your Food - 7/21

Postby naterdog » Wed Sep 22, 2010 4:56 am

It was Robin’s birthday and she chose to go out with some friends at Leslie’s restaurant called The Upland Meat Factory. These two friends of mine had not yet met and even when they would meet they would not know that I knew them both.

Robin is very outgoing and told me and probably everyone she knows about her incredible encounter. She had been eating at the Upland Meat factory with friends on her birthday lunch. She placed a large bite into her burger. She began to chew but felt something on her tongue. Whatever it was it was not suppose to be there.

She was very curious as to what she had. It appeared to be gold.

“What do you think this is?” she showed it to some friends.

“It looks to be a wedding ring,” Marge responded. She reached over to grasp it. Then she poured some water from her drinking glass over it to clean it off.

They were all looking intently at it now. Inside the band it said what Marge was looking to see; 24 carrot gold.

Robin’s eyes got huge with disbelief. The others around the table knew of no surprises. Everyone wondered how that ring could have gotten into the meal.

When the wait staff came around to replenish the drinks Robins grabbed her arm and asked excitedly, “do you know anything about the wedding band that was in my food?”

The lady narrowed her eyes wondering what Robin meant until she saw the gold band Robin was showing her.

The waitress had no answer though. “I’ll ask Leslie about it. She’s the owner and takes most of the phone calls. If someone placed it there she would know.”

Leslie came out to see to what the waitress was referring. When Leslie arrived at the table she apologized profusely about there being something foreign in the food. This is a great embarrassment to any restaurant owner. She was about to discount the meal when she looked down at the item.

Not much registered in her mind at first. But it appeared to her to be real. She raised it up to look. “Wow this is a real ring.”

With that she investigated more closely. As she did her hands began to shake and her eyes began to water. There was something going on that Robin said she didn’t understand. Then finally with excitement that was unconcealed she exclaimed, “This is impossible.”

“What is it?” the ladies wanted to know.

It took Leslies a few moments to respond. “Incredible.” She shook her head in disbelief. Still tears came down her cheek. Then she started to explain the mystery, stopping every once in a while to compose herself.

It was 25 years ago that I opened up this business. All of our equipment was new and I admit I was not sure how to use most of it. When it was time to start grinding meat, I was very cautious. I had heard terrible stories about meat grinders. One restaurant owner told me it would be a good idea to not wear a wedding ring while working the machine.

This was 25 years ago. Yeah, that’s right 1986 was when we started and I lost the ring right after that.

I had taken it off to work. I sat it on the meat grinder. At some point while I was working it disappeared. My husband Jim and I searched for several hours. It still seemed to have evaporated. We haven’t seen it since.

I don’t know how or why but somehow it has decided to reappear.

“It seems just as likely to be another ring…” one of the ladies was starting to say.

Leslie interrupted and pointed to the inside. There were words written that the ladies hadn’t seen when they looked before, “Jim and Leslie.”

“We all started to feel emotional now,” Robin told me. “Sure enough this was the missing ring. It be a lost and found story of 25 years.”

Being cute Robin told Leslie, “Well, it’s my birthday, do I get anything for finding your ring?”

The question was an innocent joke. But Leslie was so pleased by her recovered ring that she explained, “I was going to do the customary thing and refund you meal being that you found something in it.” But since it’s your birthday and you found my ring, you all eat free today.”

Leslie asked me a few days later, “Have you heard my amazing story?”

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RE: Something in Your Food - 7/21

Postby MIKTERRY » Wed Sep 22, 2010 9:24 am

"Estelle, I just had these adult braces fitted on me this afternoon. I'm very uncomfortable, but the dentist said I'll get used to them after while. I have to wear them for a year. They were outrageously expensive, but if they straighten my upper front teeth, they'll be worth it. I think it has been my crooked teeth that's been holding me back from connecting with Mr. right guy."

"Rita, just be patient with them and you'll be fine."

"The dentist said to eat just liquids and soft foods for a few weeks until the braces settle in. It was a good idea to eat at an Italian restaurant. I ordered a big bowl of pasta with marinara sauce. I can taste it now."

Estelle thought to herself, losing 40 or 50 pounds would also help your Mr. right guy search. "This is the best Italian restaurant in town. I eat here often. I enjoy the quiet ambience. The owners, Antonio and Maria, are the real thing, when it comes to authentic Italian cuisine. Antonio drives Maria crazy though. He always comes on to the ladies. Sometimes I think he's not teasing. I wonder if he has a cutie on the side. Maria would kill him and the cutie, if she found out."

"Oh good. here comes the food. let's get some more of the delicious garlic bread. Looks like I finished it all."

Maria, proudly and carefully, placed the aromatic delicacies before the two women. "Enjoy, Senoras. I am nearby should you need any thing." she said quietly with her heavily accented voice.

Without hesitation, Rita grabbed her fork and spoon, twirled a large portion of the sumptious pasta, stuffed it into her cavernous mouth and vigorously bit down. Her pained scream echoed through the small room and was instantly followed by the volcanic like eruption of pasta from her mouth, which spewed across the table with a generous portion finding its way to Estelle's face. The other diners sat stunned and silent viewing the spectacle. Rita, meanwhile, continued her loud, animated, painful performance, which included lurching forward, knocking their table over as well as crashing into a busboy carrying an innocent load of dishes, which scattered in pieces across the tiled floor.

With the initial pain finally easing, Rita slumped into a chair holding her mouth and quietly groaning and trembling. Maria, with trepidation, carefully approached the wounded guest, who outweighed her by at least 100 lbs. "Senora, what seems to be the problem?", she said softly.

Rita, slowly lowered her large hands, which had been covering her pain filled mouth. There, deeply imbeded in the semi soft braces, was a small, silver bracelet, which had made its way there from the kitchen, via Rita's pasta to her mouth. "What was in the pasta which is now caught in my mouth?" Rita slurred.

Meanwhile, Estelle, who finally cleaned herself of her friend's unexpected appetizer, approached Rita. "Let me try to work that out of your braces for you."

Rita fearfully backed away. "NO. I want my orthodontist to do it. I'll try to call him." she mouthed.

Maria had returned to the kitchen to keep things moving along for the other guests, who by this time had settled back into their places quietly discussing the evening's entertainment. Antonio, who was observing the scene from a distance, finally closed in on Rita. As he did, the bracelet slipped from Rita's mouth into her hands. Rita, for the first time examined the cause of her discomfort. As she did, she came upon the inscription engraved into the precious metal and read it aloud,"To Gina With Love From Antonio". All the nearby eyes turned toward the poor soul standing close by.

Antonio's dark complexion turned bright red as he looked quickly and fearfully around, "I must have accidently dropped it in the pasta.....". He never got to finish his admission. With the shrill shriek of a Comanche Indian, Italian style of course, Maria was a blur as she came at him with a large meat knife.

Last time they were seen, Antonio was only seconds ahead of Maria, who was not so quietly explaining what she was going to cut off of him when she caught him.

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RE: Something in Your Food - 7/21

Postby The Underwood » Wed Sep 22, 2010 5:24 pm

I stared glumly at the hokey, candy-colored music videos that loop endlessly on the Golden Panda’s twin video screens as Wang shuffled back in with the check.
Wang’s my man down at the Golden Panda, the guy who brings me my dinner every weekday night except Tuesday. He knows me, and I know him. More precisely, I know that his real name’s Wang, not George, and that he has a wife and daughter somewhere in Qinghai province. He knows that I like sweet-and-sour pork and have nowhere else to go. Wang is slightly stooped and has liver spots and an apologetic comb-over. His eyelids are always at half-mast and he moves slowly, but I don’t think he misses much. Wang’s English is slow and thickly accented. He places the small plastic tray that holds my bill and my fortune cookie on my table, turns, and steps away. His fingers are lean and wrinkled.
The fortune cookie always makes me think of Wang’s unhappiness. Seven thousand miles from home, Wang spends his days serving greasy noodles to strange, fat, white people in a garish ersatz-Chinese hell. In the Golden Panda there are red lanterns decorated with black ideograms and reprints of illustrated manuscripts from the late Ming dynasty. There’s a faux-ivory carving in its foyer and even a cloudy tank in which a lethargic miniature carp swims. But this isn’t China, and even the Americans he waits on know it. This is just a Chinese restaurant. Wang brings people orders of chicken fingers, for God’s sake. I know that the fortune cookie he has just placed on my table is an American invention, the brainchild of a Japanese man who lived in San Francisco.
There’s not much point to a fortune cookie if you’re eating alone. When you’re out with the family, or the guys from work, you can giggle as you glance nervously over the table at each other as you struggle with your cookie’s plastic wrapping. You can fight over the orange slices or laugh it up by adding “in bed” to the end of your fortunes. You can even take it sort-of-seriously, imagining, in the short space between the Golden Panda’s lushly carpeted dining room and its parking lot, that you’ve all been offered a gnomic glimpse of each of your future lives. When you’ve held down a table for one at the Golden Panda for the last six years running, though, a fortune cookie is just a tough, sour-tasting little prison for a slip of paper bearing poorly-worded phrase. I don’t see any opening for serendipity in fortune cookies, any chance for cosmic coincidence. I’ve even stopped seeing absurdity in my fortunes; there’s no trace of unintentional foodservice Dada here. I keep opening my cookie mostly out of deference to Wang. He’s been kind enough to give me the same patient, quiet attention he gives anyone else who walks in to the Panda. He’s even kind enough to make small talk with me and never demurs when I order a third bottle of Tsingtao. Who am I to refuse his little kindnesses? The man’s a professional.
That’s what I’m thinking when I crack the hard shell of the cookie and see it. This time, my cookie doesn’t tell me that a great journey can begin with a single step, or that my money can flow swiftly like a river and take me many places. This time an eyeball stares up at me from my cupped hands. It’s a human eyeball, I think, with iris a dark-brown iris. It’s covered with a sticky goo, a clear, wet membrane that clings to the shards of the fortune cookie as they fall from my hands to the sauce-stained tablecloth.
I can hear Wang approaching from the dining room’s main entrance, a look of concern on his face. He’s moving faster than his usual pace. “It is…” he begins, and then stops short. “It is…” I raise my eyes to his and search his face for meaning. Stopped in my tracks, I suddenly feel helpless, a supplicant.
“It is,” he says simply, “misfortune.”

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RE: Something in Your Food - 7/21

Postby The Underwood » Wed Sep 22, 2010 5:24 pm

I stared glumly at the hokey, candy-colored music videos that loop endlessly on the Golden Panda’s twin video screens as Wang shuffled back in with the check.
Wang’s my man down at the Golden Panda, the guy who brings me my dinner every weekday night except Tuesday. He knows me, and I know him. More precisely, I know that his real name’s Wang, not George, and that he has a wife and daughter somewhere in Qinghai province. He knows that I like sweet-and-sour pork and have nowhere else to go. Wang is slightly stooped and has liver spots and an apologetic comb-over. His eyelids are always at half-mast and he moves slowly, but I don’t think he misses much. Wang’s English is slow and thickly accented. He places the small plastic tray that holds my bill and my fortune cookie on my table, turns, and steps away. His fingers are lean and wrinkled.
The fortune cookie always makes me think of Wang’s unhappiness. Seven thousand miles from home, Wang spends his days serving greasy noodles to strange, fat, white people in a garish ersatz-Chinese hell. In the Golden Panda there are red lanterns decorated with black ideograms and reprints of illustrated manuscripts from the late Ming dynasty. There’s a faux-ivory carving in its foyer and even a cloudy tank in which a lethargic miniature carp swims. But this isn’t China, and even the Americans he waits on know it. This is just a Chinese restaurant. Wang brings people orders of chicken fingers, for God’s sake. I know that the fortune cookie he has just placed on my table is an American invention, the brainchild of a Japanese man who lived in San Francisco.
There’s not much point to a fortune cookie if you’re eating alone. When you’re out with the family, or the guys from work, you can giggle as you glance nervously over the table at each other as you struggle with your cookie’s plastic wrapping. You can fight over the orange slices or laugh it up by adding “in bed” to the end of your fortunes. You can even take it sort-of-seriously, imagining, in the short space between the Golden Panda’s lushly carpeted dining room and its parking lot, that you’ve all been offered a gnomic glimpse of each of your future lives. When you’ve held down a table for one at the Golden Panda for the last six years running, though, a fortune cookie is just a tough, sour-tasting little prison for a slip of paper bearing poorly-worded phrase. I don’t see any opening for serendipity in fortune cookies, any chance for cosmic coincidence. I’ve even stopped seeing absurdity in my fortunes; there’s no trace of unintentional foodservice Dada here. I keep opening my cookie mostly out of deference to Wang. He’s been kind enough to give me the same patient, quiet attention he gives anyone else who walks in to the Panda. He’s even kind enough to make small talk with me and never demurs when I order a third bottle of Tsingtao. Who am I to refuse his little kindnesses? The man’s a professional.
That’s what I’m thinking when I crack the hard shell of the cookie and see it. This time, my cookie doesn’t tell me that a great journey can begin with a single step, or that my money can flow swiftly like a river and take me many places. This time an eyeball stares up at me from my cupped hands. It’s a human eyeball, I think, with iris a dark-brown iris. It’s covered with a sticky goo, a clear, wet membrane that clings to the shards of the fortune cookie as they fall from my hands to the sauce-stained tablecloth.
I can hear Wang approaching from the dining room’s main entrance, a look of concern on his face. He’s moving faster than his usual pace. “It is…” he begins, and then stops short. “It is…” I raise my eyes to his and search his face for meaning. Stopped in my tracks, I suddenly feel helpless, a supplicant.
“It is,” he says simply, “misfortune.”

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RE: Something in Your Food - 7/21

Postby bluedaisy » Thu Sep 23, 2010 12:09 pm

We had been on the road for hours now, and it was late. We all decided we needed to stop for dinner. We pulled over into a run-down dive of a diner with its own drive-through, and headed for the drive-through. When we got to the window, nobody was there. Stan, driving the car, reached out and knocked on the drive-through window.

"What!!" An irritated voice called.

"We would really like to order now!" Stan called into the window.

A poorly groomed woman hobbled over to the window.

"Fine. Whaddywant!" she demanded.

"I would like a cheeseburger with no mayo. I also want a large water." Stan told her.

"Yeah ok." She replyed "What about the rest of 'ems?"

"What do you guys want?" Stan asked the rest of the car group.

"I'll take a chicken sandwich, and a Root Beer." Laura ordered.

"NEXT!" The old woman shouted, even though they were all of two feet away from her.

"I'm fine." Don said obviously grossed out enough by the woman in the window's appearence alone.

"Me too." Merrie said quietly.

"That's all." Stan told her.

The woman at the window, scribbled there order on a notepad, and gave them their reciept, which was in fact, the paper from her notepad. At the bottom was their total of $20, circled in pencil.

"Rip-off." Stan mumbled under his breath.

After about five minutes, the dirty old woman came back again with a brown paper bag with all of their food inside. Stan paid her the $20 for the meal, and pulled into a nearby parking spot, to hand out the food. Upon taking out his burger, he saw mayo spilling out of the sides.

"Great." Stan said, sarcastically.

He split the burget in half, top of the bun in one hand, bottom in the other, and scraped off the mayo with a plastic spoon, that the woman had so helpfully thrown in. After clearing away the mayo, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. A little package with a skull and crossbones, on the top. When he turned it over he saw it was a trial size package of bleach. The crazy woman had tried to poison them! After expressing his extreme anger over the bleach, he got out of the car and headed to the inside of the diner. He looked for the woman who had given him there food. She was gone. He knocked on a door that had a worn out sign on the door saying "Manager" He opened it right away and stormed in. There he found a man who stood up out of a single chair in the desolate room.

"What the heck is a package of Bleach doing in my Meal!!"

"Please sir, I can explain! Who took your order? Was it an older poorly groomed old woman?"

"Yes that was her. Who do you think you are charging 20 dollars for only two meals? This is rediculous!" Stan yelled.

"Sir, the woman who took your order was a theif, she has just robbed me of all of my money I keep here at the Diner diner, and also tried to poison you! She locked me in this room, so I couldn't open it from the inside out, but you could get in here! We have to call the police!" The frantic manager yelled back.

"Ok Mister, trust me I know how a lock works, and don't worry, we'll call the police and they'll nab her.

The manager and Stan ran outside to the car, to use Laura's cell phone since the landline's had been cut. As they got to the car, they saw that Don had tackled the woman who stole from the manager, attempted to poison Stan, and stole the money they paid for their meal.

"The cops are on their way!" Merrie told them.
With that they heard sirens and saw police lights coming into the parking lot. After the police left with "Lucille", the crook, the manager thanked Stan and his friends and invited them all in for a free, delicious meal.

THE END

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RE: Something in Your Food - 7/21

Postby mammamia1803 » Fri Sep 24, 2010 5:10 pm

"WAITER!"

I scurried over to the impatient lady's table.

"It's waitress, hag."

I had already been having a horrible time with this woman, and now whatever she wanted was going to take more time--

"LOOK what I found in my FOOD! WHAT kind of a diner is this?"

"It's a diner. Don't expect too much from it. And--"

I stopped dead when I saw what she held up.

The finger.

Oh, no, not THAT finger! Well, it depends on what you're thinking of, really, but it was a dislocated finger. THE dislocated finger. Of John Brown.

"That's DISGUSTING!"

And she stood up and left with a prissy little look on her prissy little face.

I was actually surprised she didn't leave screaming when she first saw the finger, but I could tell from the start something wasn't right with her.

But you're probably wondering who John Brown was and what his story was, too. Well, that's a story to be told, my friend.

John Brown was actually a mere chef here at The Daily Delight, and was cooking pasta one day when he chopped his finger off mincing the seasonings. Now, we usually cooked pasta a lot at a time, and that wasn't so long ago, so the chances were, while most of the chefs were rushing Mr. Brown off to the hospital, the finger got mixed in with the lot of pasta, and it'd be about two weeks until a customer found it.

Yeah, I'm surprised the FDA didn't shut us down, either.

~*~

When I got home that evening, I reasearched the woman online using her credit card information (she left her credit card on the table).

As it turns out, she was the wife of John Brown.

That's why she wasn't surprised!

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Re: Something in Your Food - 7/21

Postby seethatsme » Sun Sep 26, 2010 7:54 am

As soon as I cracked the cookie, he realized his mistake. The half tied apron cascaded to the floor as he jolted across the restaurant.

“It wasn’t meant for you.” His face reddened as he realized that this omission was even worse than my discovery.

“Who was it for?” My eyes fixed on the twisted piece of paper between my thumbs. The line of fortune paired with lucky numbers was so simple and innocent. But it wasn’t my fortune.

“It was a typo.” Now he was just babbling. Not caring if his statements made any sense.

“How long has she been here?” A smudge expanded on the paper as I realized my eyes had wet it.

“He.”

My eyes jumped to meet him, not caring that he could see the tears. My stubborn façade was crumbling.

“Why did he pick this fortune?” It was so similar to the one that I had seen every day, but it’s individuality was apparent.

“He wanted to be like you.” Sincerity finally rang in his voice.

“Where is he?”

He motioned towards an empty booth at the south of the restaurant. “Do you see him?”

I stared into the emptiness and tried so hard to see him, yet all I felt was stillness. Then, for a moment, I almost saw the salt shaker teeter. And then it was nothing. It was always nothing.

“No,” I said, my eyes resigning to the fortune.

“Maybe tomorrow-“

“No.”

He knew not to argue and instead retreated to the kitchen. With his hand on the swinging door, he turned back to me, hearing the mumble that groaned from my throat.

“Can you tell him that I love him?” He nodded and peered towards the empty booth. Out of the silence I could almost hear the soft response of I love you too, Mommy. But then, once again, there was nothing.

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