A Word about Nando’s
I didn’t realize Nando’s was a thing until I went to
Ireland. Being isolated in a Dublin suburb left me with few food options, so I
basically ate my round the circle of chain restaurants that surround the mall
across the street from my hotel.
Brief reviews:
Captain America’s – More like Captain
Ameri-what-daf-is-this-charred-mess-on-a-bun-in-front-of-me.
Wagamama – The cheesecake here gave me life. If I were
Beyonce and releasing an album about turning something awful into art it would
be called Wagamama Cheesecake.
TGIFriday – Like, I don’t mind if every day is Friday.
Milano – The highlight here was the Croatian waitress who
just goes “Why are you in Ireland?” Then invited me to visit her.
#stillgotsomeheteromagnetism
Nando’s – NOPE.
Flashback fifteen odd years to a board room where some guy
named Nando was like:
“Guys, I’ve got a great idea for a restaurant. We’ll make it
look like a restaurant, but then put all the condiments on a rack so that the
patrons have to set their own table. Then they go to the front and order food
which will be overpriced and ½ the portion of a real restaurant. We save on
overhead but we’ll have fancy light fixtures so people think they deserve to be
paying more than McDonald’s!”
That is probably what happened. Because this place is a
chain that’s concept is you set your own table and they give you 0 food for double
the price of any restaurant in town. I ordered the double chicken breast
assuming the chickens wouldn’t be American-sized, but also assuming that they
wouldn’t have gotten them from Pygmy Chicken Island.
Literally, like two chicken nuggets put together for 17
bucks.
Brief excerpt from the third track on Wagama Cheescake. A song
called “Nando.”
You gave me chicken
But after lickin’ the plate with my tongue
Everything was gone
So was my paycheck
‘Cuz you done overpriced this breast of chick
I was wanting to complain about it to other people and the
opportunity came up when a coworker who lives in London brought it up on our
work chat tool.
I went to Nando’s – he typed innocently.
I couldn’t stop it. A stream of hate and bile directed at
Mr. Nando and the millions of people who have allowed this chain to thrive. WHY?!
The only thing even close to causing me as much food hatred
is tapas.
Oh
My
Lordt.
If you want to piss me off invite me to get tapas.
“Hey, Tedd, you know what sounds like a good idea? Rather
than spending $20 on an entrée and drink that fills you up, let’s spend $50
apiece on 3 small plates that force you to go to McDonald’s after!”
Yes, thanks, Nando. I will come to your birthday. Let’s
invite 5 people so that all the tiny plates of food with 3 things on them don’t
cause any awkward tension at all. There is nothing more pleasurable than taking
a scalpel out of my pocket to shave off 1/3 of a bacon wrapped date so that
everyone at the table can place a shard on their tongue and get a rough
estimate of the flavor.
Flashback 40 years ago where Tapas, a Spanish-American
business man is in board room:
“So we’re going to say this is a Spanish thing and charge
Americans $15 a plate for tiny appetizers that in Spain are free and come
before the food you really order. We’ll put in fancy light fixtures so they
think it’s a cultural experience.”
The first tapas were actually pieces of bread to keep flies
away. FLIES. Now we pay $20 for a sophisticated piece of fly paper.
Thanks, Mr. Tapas.
Anyway, the point of this is that Nando’s is stupid but
Tapas are more stupider. Either way people have made a fortune off of charging
for tiny amounts of food. Maybe I’ll make tiny beds and say that they are like
the beds in Croatia. It’s cultural. Here’s a light fixture, don’t think too
much about it.
Tour de Belfast
When I was in Ireland I spent one whole day during the
weekend on a tour of Northern Ireland. This was my second visit and on the
first visit I went on another tour of Western Ireland. The Western tour had a
lot of wonderful info about the history of Ireland and the guide knew more than
most encyclopedias.
Northern Ireland… notttt sooo muccchhhh.
The bus driver to Belfast didn’t know anything. Like
anything. Someone saw a flower on the side of the road (by flower, I mean 1500
flowers because these yellow things were everywhere) and she asked, “What are
those yellow flowers?”
Response: “Har har! Call’em whatever you want! I call’em
Irish northy flowers!”
I allowed this as this driver’s only job was to get us to
Belfast. Maybe he was someone’s cousin who needed a job? Or something? Let’s be
generous.
We get to Belfast and meet our guide.
Somehow, this guy must have gotten the job from the cousin
because, if possible, he knew less. He tried to cover this up by telling random
weird jokes about every 20 minutes over the intercom. What added ambience to
this set up was the fact that for a chunk of the trip we were listening to
peppy Irish music. So essentially it was like hearing a joke, followed by Irish
Benny Hill music.
For example:
“Aye, that cemetery is where the inventor of the crossword
is buried. Not sure of the gravestone but I think it’s four down and three
across.”
ad nauseum.
This theme music (with an Irish twist) was perfect for the
roughly 15 mins we got at every stop. My bf and I were literally sprinting
around the first castle to see all four sides before the bus got away. I BARELY
had time to take a picture of the restaurant called “The Swift” so I could make
a humorous Taylor Swift joke on Instagram. (Follow me!)
Actual shot of me on the tour:
The other stops were slightly better, but bf and I still
ended up running halfway down to Giant’s causeway so we could see the whole
thing, rather than just one view of it. This was much appreciated as when we
saw it from afar I had the same reaction as the girl next to me:
“Dat’s it?” she asked. “Jaysus…”
5 hours on a bus for a blob of blocks.
It actually is pretty cool though. I saw it for 50 seconds,
looking down as I sprinted by.
Old Friends Come Back
I have no idea how this guy entered my social media life,
but I have religiously followed him for the last couple years or so. I think it
was through a mutual friend, but his posts were the highlight of my week.
“Is he humorous?” you ask. Very, but not because he is
trying to be.
“Insightful?” Attempting, which led to the humorous part.
“Shirtless a lot?” Um. Absolutely.
So this guy makes posts that are him figuring out life. But
him figuring out life is like a unicorn not having enough golden syrup to get
full in his fifteenth meal of the day.
For instance, one post was about him giving money to a poor
person and someone saying they were surprised because he’s attractive.
MY GOD THE STRUGGLE!
This led to a (very articulate, full of big words) rant about
beauty and inner beauty and how we should all treat each other as equals. You
could tell it was sincere because it was sandwiched between two pictures of him
in speedoes.
I hope this doesn’t come off as judgmental. He’s living his
life and being pretty and struggling, I just find great humor in his insights
that most people have at the age of four. One post had him talking about his struggle of
getting work done and social obligations, but most importantly getting back to
himself and his goals of working out 4 hours a day.
I just… what?
Compounded on top of this sociological interest in what
human existence is like for those in the top .10% of attractiveness, is the
sympathy he elicits from seemingly ordinary people.
His status about his kampf working out 4 hours a day
elicited like 150 FB likes and 30 comments. Most people telling him to not
worry, he’ll get through this.
Of course, he f%^king will. Like – what? Why don’t you
comment on the newsfeed of the single mom who is working and trying to pay for
her kid’s dinner. Or donate a can of food to a shelter? Or stop trying to make
your “sympathetic” comment into a veiled come-on?
“A cutie like you will definitely push through this.
#believe #bestrong”
An excerpt track 14 from this guy’s album “Golden Syrup That Is
Slightly Old but Still In-Date”
Life is hard,
I know because I saw a movie once
And that feeling of having wet things
On your face
Happens to me sometimes
Of course, on top of all this “interest” is my own feelings
of attraction to his shirtless form. I like don’t mind that he’s holding up a
sign with an inspiring quote wearing only a jock strap. It had an impact on me.
It was rousing spiritually and in other ways that aren’t spiritually.
Sadly, this guy disappeared from social media completely for
like a year. I would check occasionally but, sigh, he wasn’t there and I had no
inspirational quotes or insights into struggles about trying to date when you’re
better looking than most people in the Western Hemisphere.
BUT THIS WEEK HE CAME BACK.
He has moved from the world of Facebook to the hashtag
cornucopia of Instagram. And he does not disappoint.
He’s always on the way to the gym or sitting shirtless
somewhere. Sadly his insights have ebbed. Most of his hashtags and captions are
goofy. There was one amazing one of him flexing and somehow it being tied to
his career goals. I don’t get it but I’m fine with it.
In some ways I’m hoping for some kind of Harry Styles break
up so that we’ll get some really juicy posts about life and love and #whatever
and #goldensyrupstruggles but until then I’ll have to be satisfied with him
standing on a rock (why are hot gay guys always on rocks?) and hashtagging his
#fitfam.
I honestly wish him the best… but some of the worst. I have
to have something funny to read on the train.
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