Eating Out

Worst meal of your life

Snowed in tonight, I've been pondering some deep philosophical issues, like why, over time, I remember the awful things I've eaten much more vividly than the wonderful things.
For purposes of discussion, I am limiting this to meals that you have paid for, to your chagrin, in restaurants. In other words, drunken binges, dinners at MIL's house, etc. don't count.

For me, it was some years ago, in Greenwich, England. We stopped at a pub for lunch. It was called Macdonald's. I thought, how quaint, we have McDonald's, and they have Macdonalds. My spouse ordered a roast beef sandwich, and I ordered the specialty of the house, trout. (don't ask me why-I am adventurous, and impulsive).
The sandwich was one, thin slice of a tough, grey, leather-like substance on white bread with butter.
The slimy, disgusting trout looked like it was just fished out of the filthy Thames, gutted, steamed for about a minute, and thrown on a plate. I sat there, just staring at it, and it stared right back at me. I didn't touch it, but the memory has haunted me ever since.
And, the beer was warm.

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