Dear Lady drinking the Duck-Rabbit Milk Stout on a Sunday before 5 p.m.,*
I apologize for appearing on your plate today. I agree I was not an acceptable substitute for the crabmeat in an omelet stuffed with goat cheese and fava beans with an avocado sauce drizzled on top. Thank you for noticing that I was not crabmeat drenched in barbecue sauce.
After the chef admitted the substitution, you placed a new order. You, the so called vegan – but more accurately called fegan, ordered Eggs Benedict. Obviously you were in need of a fancier dish to go with your frites and mayonnaise. I watched your order go out and saw you eat a bite of my former self. But I have to admit I was very happy when I saw your plate return to the kitchen with most of the ham intact. I wasn’t the only meat you decided to reject today.
If all of those little creatures that were sitting across from you give you a moment of peace today, please join me in requesting that the chef does not serve a barbecue crabmeat sandwich for lunch tomorrow. If I am taken off of the sandwich there is really no where else for me to go – as you found out today. Crab has many opportunities that I simply don’t have. If I can take one bit of solace from all of this at least there is not an imitation form of me…..yet.
The pulled pork you sent back today
*You are a Southern girl now, ma’am. And they don’t drink dark beers. If you choose to drink at brunch please make sure it is an acceptable drink like a Bloody Mary or a Mimosa. Something with a fruit or veggie in it. Not something resembling mud.