DISCLAIMER

People often ask me what it's like being an expat in Dubai. Actually they don't but like the rest of this blog, let's just blindly assume people care what I think and go on from there. Dubai is beautiful, it's a sun-drenched tax-free paradise, with a wise and benevolent ruler. There is no real winter to speak of and the roads are beset with outrageous supercars. If your eyes ever tire of street level gawking, there are thousands of kilometres of sky scrapers to develop neck trauma to. Yes, in many ways it is paradise, but what is paradise without a little trouble? In the Wachowski (formerly) brothers movie trilogy: The Matrix, a sentient program called 'Agent Smith' describes the failure of our robot overlords to captivate and pacify human minds in a sensory-fed utopia: "Did you know that the first Matrix was designed to be a perfect human world where none suffered, where everyone would be happy? It was a disaster. No one would accept the program. Entire crops were lost. Some believed that we lacked the programming language to describe your "perfect world". But I believe that, as a species human beings define their reality through misery and suffering. So the perfect world was a dream that your primitive cerebrum kept trying to wake up from". And that's where we are with this blog: a long whimsical stare in to the bathroom mirror wondering what would have happened if you took the blue pill, intended as nothing more than a (sincerely respectful) bit of probing in to the more bizarre side of living in the UAE.

Tuesday, 14 July 2015

Is that A Mexican Wrap In Your Pocket Or Do You Have Dysentery ?


One of the most satisfying complaint letters I've ever written, it was to a restaurant specialisng in chicken, that to avoid a lawsuit and deportation, will remain nameless. Menu items have also had their names changed to prevent identification.



Dear Sirs

I am writing this correspondence partly as a letter of complaint but also as public record of my last will and testament. I made an order from your restaurant through the popular takeaway comparison site (namewitheld.com) - seduced by the user reviews which bolstered your claim to be "xxxxxxx" (name witheld). The delivery was timely and the gentleman transporting the goods was an excellent ambassador for your company. He politely completed the transaction as we went through the ritualistic dance of swapping money for merchandise. A transaction that I now regret with the same fervor as somebody that selects shaving equipment based on the relative degree of rustiness on the blunt jagged edges.

I opened the bag that he delivered and stared down at the food - 1 portion of chips, 1 can of fizzy drink, 1 box of spicy chick cack (edit) and a Mexican wrap. 

To be absolutely fair - the can of coke was OK, it met my expectations head on with a firm handshake and a familiar nod. 

The chips however were cold, damp and hewn from the same material as Hugh Grant's hair. If they were a top trump card, their Taste Factor would be 17 - meaning they would lose in a head to head with grouting putty (which incidentally has a taste factor of 19 (in case you were wondering)). But that being said - the chips were by far and away the highlight of the food offerings. 

Let me get on to the The Mexican Wrap, before the stomach cramps, diarrhea and the tunnel of light take away my ability to moan. Mexico, ahhh Mexico - spiritual home of the half-arsed job and the burrito - I can perfectly understand why you decided to call the wrap that - some may say that it's misleading, that calling a food item Mexican - means that you should probably make some effort to simulate the taste inspired by that area. You know what I say to those people - those dream tramplers? Well by and large I agree with them, but I'd stick up for you in as much as the taste of the wrap did effectively encapsulate certain parts of Mexico - very specifically: anywhere you might find the slowly decaying carcass of a stray dog on a heavily polluted river estuary. 

The sauce: I imagine that at some point in your efforts to synthesize your own version of the Colonel's 11 secret herbs and spices - you gave up, and focused your time and attention on a much more fruitful activity like bending space time or harvesting cosmic rays as a cheap and limitless solution to the world's energy crisis. I assume that during these great works you happened upon a way to titrate dark matter and were pleasantly surprised that when added to a squeeze of lime juice and a foaming broth of poultry offal - gave the Mexican wrap just the right level of gut wrenching billious humor the haggered pension-aged chicken it's paired with deserved. 

Spicy Chick cack (edit). My own fault really - I've always been a sucker for creative marketing. Chick cack (edit) is I presume the latin name for the species used as the meat for the dish - is it a predecessor of the chicken or the next evolutionary leap? It's funny because - people often say when introduced to a new meat - that it tastes like chicken, ironically - your chicken doesn't actually taste like chicken. It tastes like the colour brown. An achievement that shouldn't go unrewarded by the Nobel committee. 

I calculate - based on the reproductive cycles of amoebic dysentery and aggressive crypto-bacteria - I have only a few hours left before the coma kicks in and I complete the rest of my life's dining through a tube. In that time I would be much obliged if you could confirm to me that you don't provide any of the catering to the intensive care wards of hospitals local to this area. My next of kin however would happily accept any money off vouchers you may deem fit to offer for cans of coke.
Many Thanks

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