I may as well admit it, my blogging lately has been suffering. I blame this shining specimen of humanity known as my brother Jared.
Observe the familial resemblance; somewhere around the eyes, the cynicism and lack of motivation that says “Sure, I could talk to you, or I could go lick an ashtray.” Anyways, I like him alright, I guess, so when he’s around I do things I normally wouldn’t. Like leave the house.
Which brings me to the topic at hand. Chinese buffet. I always swear off Chinese buffet and then I always return. I think they put crack in the doughnuts, which are, incidentally, the best part of Chinese buffet. I don’t think there is actually anything particularly Chinese about the doughnuts. I can remember making doughnuts like that in church when I was really little. I’m pretty sure we just dropped dough from those pillsbury tubes into hot oil and then rolled it in powdered sugar, but boy howdy, were those some tasty treats. I’m still not 100% convinced the wisdom in having hot oil around radioactive children (i.e., highly unstable and liable to set their own selves off at any moment) (e.g., me).
Anywho, please excuse the tangent about my tragic childhood, the point of this story is Chinese buffet. So, trying to stock up on doughnuts, I grabbed a pastry type thing or three and returned to my table. I lovingly lifted one to my mouth only to discover that while perhaps on the outside it resembled the yummy dessert I was expecting, lurking inside was some sort of slimy meat filling. The meat, devious and unrecognizable. Beef, perhaps? Pork? I wish I had taken a picture to share with you people, but believe me when I say, oh, the horror! I inadvertently grabbed the wrong thing, and now I was stuck with these doughnuts that looked like someone had held them open and sharted into them. And I’m pretty sure that any food item that brings to mind a word that once made my very proper mother-in-law burst into involuntary and yet disapproving laughter when it was explained to her, should not really be anywhere near me at any time.
I know, I know, slighly hypocritical coming from a person who would probably not hestitate to eat one of these.
Still. You can’t just spring something like that on someone. They were with the desserts, people.
With a little imagination, this is what they might look like if they came alive and started marching towards my house to exact revenge:
A thought which still haunts my dreams.
While this experience in and of itself might have been enough to get me to really and truly swear off Chinese Buffet, shortly after my shocking discovery, the waitress walked by us, and proceeded to refill my brother’s water with the half full glass she had just grabbed off the table behind us. Was she not paying attention? Was she perhaps, feeling slightly upstaged by my shart donut? Or is that actually company policy? The possibilities are all equally terrifying.
To add insult to injury, Jared’s fortune cookie read: “A lucky will soon come into your life.” Unfortunately, not soon enough. Thus the following letter:
“Dear Chinese Buffet: even if “a lucky” comes into your life soon, I will not be visiting you again. You have MSGed me for the last time. No more. I mean it this time.
PS – I will miss your wonton soup.
PPS – I still can’t figure out why you put the kimchi with the desserts, instead of the vegetables…don’t bother trying to explain, I’ve already blocked your number.”