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Showing posts with label chinese takeaway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chinese takeaway. Show all posts

Sunday 3 January 2010

Guardian All Ears 2nd January



Back on it after a brief hiatus over Christmas (while the Guide wrote lists & the words 'David Tennant' an awful lot of times)

http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/series/michaelholdensallears

(article by Michael Holden)

I've written before about the Chinese takeaway that has its own microclimate. Suffice to say that at this time of year things are so cold there that to see two other people inside, smiling – and showing no visible signs of hypothermia – seemed reassuring. Perhaps they've finally warmed the place up, I thought, as I opened the door. But as the familiar blend of sub-zero air and the sound and scent of boiling oil embraced me I could see the other customers: a couple in their 60s were drunk and in a warm relationship and couldn't care less about the weather.

Woman (holding man for support) "Where's the food?"

Man (looking down at her affectionately) "Won't be long."

Woman "What we ordered?"

Man "Plenty of everything."

Woman "Are we having prawns?"

Man "No."

Woman (distraught) "Why!"

Man "You never asked for none."

Woman (lurching toward the counter) "I gotta get some!"

Man (firmly but not angrily) "You'll slow everything down!"

Woman (to the owner) "Give us some of them prawns."

Owner "What prawns?"

Woman "Where's the menu?"

Man (sensing the futility of this) "Just give us some chilli salt prawns, would you?"

Woman "That's them!"

Owner "Your food is ready."

Man "Yeah well, we'll wait for the prawns." The woman looked at him as though he was heading into the sea to catch them himself, and he looked back as though he would gladly undertake such an errand, should she require it.

Monday 4 May 2009

Guardian All Ears 3rd May


(article by Michael Holden)
As warm weather breeds inertia so that inertia breeds an increased reliance on takeaway food, at least in my world. I was just inside the door of my local Chinese when the two women ahead of me continued a dialogue that was so off putting you could have written it down and sold it as a diet.

Woman 1 (Staring out the window, considering what would follow) “I won’t have any of the meat. I’ll just have the juice off of it.”

Woman 2 (Somehow blind to the disturbing nature of the suggested image) “Right.”

Woman 1 “I don’t like nothing too dry neither.”

Woman 2 (agreeing) “No.”

Woman 1 (apparently philosophical) “What we doing here anyway?”

Woman 2 (suspicious) “Eh?”

Woman 1 “How come we’ve come in here, instead of ordering it on the phone?”

Woman 2 (reassured) “It’s an extra pound.”

Woman 1 “What is?”

Woman 2 “If you want it delivered, it’s an extra pound, if the order’s less than fifteen quid.”

Woman 1 “You ever use the one in Mile End? They do the delivery.”

Woman 2 “No.”

Woman 1 “It turns up stone cold.”

Woman 2 (unaffected by these revelations) “Right.”

Their food was ready and they accepted it in great steaming bags while the woman behind the counter read out their order in confirmation.

Woman 1 (anxious to head off any misunderstanding) “Like I said, you have the meat, I’ll have the juice that it sits in.”

Woman 2 “Right.”

They left and I tried to place my order, but the menu seemed to have lost its appeal.