In the current state of mind, I didn't think something would stir my apathetic state quite so much as this disaster offered by Outback Steakhouse and Cold Stone Creamery. I did not take any pictures so I will paint a picture. I am glad I did not soil the pixels in my camera with these latest offerings.
It was another depressing day. My mood was lower than the rate of interest offered by my bank. Imagine the thought of translating the entire transcript of the Leveson Inquiry into Latin whilst having the soles of your feet flogged with barbed wire. The idea was put forward to try Outback Steakhouse. I had gone before but I think my palate was naive and immature. It was a perfect evening. It was not too hot and not too cold. The blue sky was slowly being engulfed by the molten sunset. Perfect. It was screaming for an outdoor meal....
We parked and made our way to the front door where a family of obese atherosclerotic humanoids waddled out. I should have turned around and gone home right there. Inside, the atmosphere was your standard American restaurant chain atmosphere. The air conditioning units were relentlessly recycling the tired air while trying its best to culture Legionnaire's disease just for our comfort. It was dark inside too. The blinds were closed as if trying to block anything natural filling the room. Here natural is not good.
The customary headache of trying to place my order inevitably ensued. I don't mind waitresses not understanding my accent but trying to guess what I say, writing down what they think and getting it completely wrong vexes me right off. If there are any waitresses reading this, do yourself a favour and just tell me that you do not understand. Getting that off my chest, we ordered a big fried onion thing complete with dip for an appetiser although the word 'appetiser' does not describe accurately this health catastrophe. I ordered, what can only be described as a poor man's surf and turf. Stupidly for my side, I asked for an onion soup.
Calamitous, harrowing, sodomy. Perfect adjectives to describe what violated my oesophagus. First, my onion soup. A piece of bread (I think) with melted cheese floated on the surface as if its sole purpose was to unleash the punchline of this soup once you remove it from the surface. The soup resembled sludge, and it didn't taste too far off sludge. Second, the fried onion thing ('Bloomin' onion'). It looked quite impressive in a cholesterrific sadistic way. This thing was obviously developed by Pfizer with sales of atorvastatin in mind. This onion thing was, however, addictive like crack cocaine. And just like crack cocaine it will fuck you up. If I could fractionally distillate this onion thing, it would have guaranteed my membership at OPEC. Last, my steak and shrimp with seasonal vegetables arrived. My plate looked like a teenager's face. It was greasy and had greasy nasty blotches scattered around. Oh hold it, that was the steak, token shrimps and seasonal vegetables. My token shrimps looked forlorn and were probably glad to be culled. My steak was despicable. They somehow got away with grilling an old boot seasoned with trench foot. Not even Bob Diamond could have rigged this to something acceptable. And the seasonal vegetables were just pitiful.
I thought I could salvage the evening with an ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery. It is difficult to fuck up ice cream. But this is America. My kid's size ice cream was a monster. What was in it was also a miscreation. I thought I would play it safe and get a vanilla ice cream. First, I could not taste any vanilla. Just some generic sweet taste. Second the consistency of this behemoth was like cryo-bitumen. Even the Large Hadron Collider would have trouble analysing what this thing was. This ice cream somehow eluded the Higg's field and was an entity in itself, although the statement is not technically correct as the ice cream would be flying around at the speed of light. Thinking about it, I should have binned it at the speed of light.
The HoDown says: palate sodomy.
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