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Hound Defeated - Long

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Restaurants & Bars 9

Hound Defeated - Long

crumpet | Nov 19, 2002 11:03 AM

I have suffered a massive, terrifying loss of confidence in my houndliness. Yes I, a hound who has positively inhaled quantities of turtle and stingray, fish guts, raw shrimp and even the odd testicle. I, who have gulped down a shot of eel’s gizzard soju to the astonished hooting and whooping of an entire restaurant, I have discovered a dish that I absolutely could not eat. And the horror is, that the dish that did it is fair loved by millions far and wide, sucked down with great joy and appetite….THIS IS KILLING ME! Its not strange, its not odd…its bloody menudo! How can this be? So, there I was as the bowl approached, I’m fearless, dammit I’m starving and I swear to God I could have eaten an entire camel, stuffed with fat, fat sheep, stuffed with…you get the picture, I’m ready to eat. And then I got my very first glimpse (cue Psycho music.) The thought you see that occurred to me was that the contents resembled what would happen if one took a human being, took a machete, sliced said being from the breast bone down and asked your victim to leave forward over a bowl. But I’m a rather determined beast, so ignoring the quivering and lurching deep within, I ate. Oh yes, quite a few mouthfuls too. Tried the three-step approach. Chew hard, swallow fast, ignore chewing and swallow and finally nibble. And then I realized I was going to have to leave it. This bowl of food over which someone had put time and effort. Quite frankly, I’ve never been so depressed. Old boarding school stratagems began circling in the head. Could I chuck it in a nearby vacant receptacle? Could I bribe Mr. Bokkum to consume my share? No good. I’m not twelve anymore. And then came the absolute clincher, oh Lynch woulda loved this one. A homeless man stopped outside the window next to our table (I’m not making this up) and just stared at my bowl with the most agonized look of disgust and horror I have ever seen in my entire life. For a good ten minutes. Which of course had the effect of making the entire restaurant turn to stare at our table and now everyone, everyone, everyone knows the chink in my houndly armor. The world can be a cruel place.

And so hounds. Am I alone in this defeat? Soothe my post-traumatic stress disorder with some shared tales of dishes that you could not get your chops about.

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