Sunday, March 14, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Today I ordered a savory muffin and a coffee from your stall at the Melbourne airport.
I would like you to know that you made everything far too hot.
Had you been serving Mount Vesuvius lunch I would have understood.
However, I am not a heated mountain, and therefore I could not appreciate the fire that you served me.
I am not exaggerating. You cooked my muffin so furiously that the paper it was encased in fused to the edges, making it completely impossible to pry away.
The coffee was like drinking carpet burn. After first ingesting a mouthful my tongue was so heat ravaged that I momentarily mistook the drink for Satan’s urine.
But seriously, how long did you heat it? And what the hell did you heat it in?
Is your microwave nuclear powered?
Are you trying to give all your meals some sort of food-oriented heat stroke?
Is the spirit of Ash Wednesday haunting your cooking methodology?
Whatever the device/spirit of ‘hot’ you are wielding is…please stop.