I gave the menu a routine appraisal before electing the lobster bisque to start; you can't go wrong with a bisque. And at an economically viable 75 baht it meant that my wallet would side-step a buggering.
I began salivating at the prospect of my imminent appetizer - with promises of a smooth and creamy broth seasoned to perfection with tarragon, nutmeg, paprika and parsley, I was postively pissing my pants in anticipation.
After some 10 minutes (A time I noted that could possibly coincide with the opening of a tin and a covert nuking in a microwave), I was presented with my starter.
What? I didn't ask for a fucking cup of PG Tips, mate. What's this bollocks?
Since it was going to take me two and a half slurps to end this soup's existance, I felt it necessary to order a couple of slices of bread in order to give the repast a bit of girth.
The bread took longer to come than the fucking soup did, although I'm quite partial to a garlic seasoned slice.
Upon intial tasting I burnt the fuck out of my mouth (microwave), and going in for a second spoonful I unearthed a white piece of flesh which looked remarkably like a segment of shrimp - because that's exactly what it was, shrimp. Erm, Waiter, there appears to be a fucking prawn in my lobster bisque, in fact there's a whole bunch of the fuckers. I believe there are certain alterations which need to be made to your menu.
With the bisque of whatever fucking description it was now settling at the base of my stomach, I noted that a special had been added to the Entrees selection and ordered it quickly before I changed my mind, ran to 7/11 and overdosed on ham and cheese toasted sandwiches.
Lamb Stew. Just what one requires on a, erm, hot and sunny afternoon in the middle of the bastard tropics.
I pictured being bestowed a hearty assembly of chunky meat, potato and vegetable pieces, perhaps accompanied with a side of mash and a great, fuck-off stick of French bread - after all, the 280 baht price tag should surely see me leave the establishment a happy and contented customer.
But what's this? It appears that someone has randomly dumped a fist full of spaghetti on my plate. Spaghetti! Fucking SPAGHETTI?!
Next week I'll try somewhere new - and I won't be held responsible for my actions should they try to compliment my Sunday roast with fucking pasta.
Sheeesh. Some people.