The Worst Fries on the Planet

Well how many of you love French Fries?

I know too many who do, and you count me in that list too. But what happened today, was probably the worst that can happen to any foodie. The worst torture of its kind. My fries sucked. Can you imagine??  L

Okay, so let me start from the top. I met a friend of mine today, and we did not have too much time on our plate, so we thought we’d enter the first restaurant we came across. Call it our bad luck, or one of God’s pious schemes, we saw Nirulas.(I know, what WAS I thinking?)

So, we know about the Soup Nirulas is in, but launching a Tomato and Chicken soup, and designing your shop to coax customers into ordering the same when you don’t have it in stock is stupid. Simply put, Pathetic. How can you not have a simple SOUP in stock, when you just launched it? Why did you launch it in the first place when you can’t have customers trying it? Or are you too afraid of the feedback, you’d get, that you’re just serving it to your employees?

Getting over all that thought, I ordered some things around their largest size fries and waited for the stuff to show up, and believe me it took ages. I almost aged by a century and grew some 100 strands of white hair, when the food finally arrived.

Checkout the quantity of fries we got for 50 bucks. Yes!!!! I’m Not kidding you, this picture was taken when we were four fries down. And boy it tasted like dog shit. I haven’t had the pleasure of tasting Dog shit in my life, ever, but Nirulas, you made me do it today. I owe you for this once in a lifetime experience. The fries were undercooked, returned them, and got undercooked tasteless fries, yet again. Brilliant. My 8 year old cousin could cook better than your best cook.

We somehow managed with the other food items, and asked for the Feedback form. I wrote “You Suck, Nirulas”.

I also told the manager to his face, “Your food, sucks!!”

He said “Nahi sir, bas cooks thode experienced nahi hain.”

“I wouldn’t call people who forget to salt undercooked fries at a restaurant inexperienced, I call them dumb and stupid.”

With which, I left him.

Their flat cokes do deserve special mention, but I must say, the fries stole the show. Their pizzas are non-existent, and so much is the extent of cost cutting, that napkins are one by four napkins.

I feel, there is nothing Nirulas can do with its current attitude of displeasing customers. If it wants to make some dough and enjoy customer loyalty (God forbid), it needs to pay people for eating its food, not charge them.

Customers would be better off making their own food, at a Nirula’s restaurant, atleast they won’t run the risk of consumption of stale or undercooked food. People wouln’t eat at Nirula’s if you gave them complimentary Blowjobs, you dumb fucks, make your food taste better.

And Lastly, eat a plate of Chhole Kulche from that neighbourhood thela wala ,but don’t tease diarrhoea with Nirula’s food. Nobody’s gut is as strong as their Food Inspection Manager’s, who if is alive, needs to be shot dead on sight.

Floyd

“Hello Hello Hello,

Is anybody in there?

Just nod if you can hear me,

Is there anyone home?”

The hostel room perfect, Floyd in the background was perfect, the mood perfect, the cans  in our right hands perfect, the smokes in the left perfect, the occasion perfect, but yet something seemed imperfect.

We had all been placed, a perfect occasion to celebrate, yet something was off.

Two of us squatted on chairs and two on the bed where the ripped off bag of Lay’s lay and kurkure were spewn across on the newspapers between us. Neither of us said a word. All four lost in deep thought.

How fast things change.

It only seemed like yesterday, when we told each other our names. It was only yesterday that we copied on that test, bunked that subject too much and failed it. Only yesterday, that we had our cans in Central Park, had Kebabs at Khan Chacha. How chilled out life was. How weird life is now.

We had that white Maruti we roamed the whole of Delhi in. We had empty wallets, yet the bloated tummies. No balance in our phone Sim cards yet girls we went out with. Now we will barely have time for ourselves.

There we sat missing each of those moments, laughing at some, getting sentimental on others. I would go join a college in Mumbai, one would work in Bangalore, one Gurgaon, the other Ladakh, his hometown. We were destined to go as far away as possible, as if it were God’s plan.

We sat there talking about the madness, just the previous day, the Farewell. My getting clicked with the girl I had a crush on the entire 4 years. Not taking names. And A’s docile attempt of hugging B (an unsuspecting female), and getting slapped across in the face for the same. How we laughed at that.

The hostel room we studied in, the low wall we sat on to check out girls all day long and the times we spent arguing over who owed how much to whom, we were going away from all of it.

College was fun, we hoped life ahead would be even more fun.

We did not know what lay ahead.

I closed my eyes, gulped the contents of the can down and took it all in. It may never be the same again.

I made the best of friends in my Bachelors, and life was great. I hope they do great wherever they are.

And hope they don’t forget all the Floyd songs we have learnt, over the million cans of Coke :P .

Such Is Love

source: delacorr.deviantart.com

Given my inexplicable inexperience in this domain, I’m not the correct person to take advice from. But who said this post is to advise something to somebody. Can’t one just write what one feels like writing? So well, the disclaimer says, I shall be in no way whatsoever (trying to sound as formal as I can) be held responsible, for any actions, leading or misleading, to any socially irresponsible conduct. The views expressed are personal, some by mere observation, and some even fictional.

So, Aman (name changed due to obvious reasons) walked into class clutching a clutcher, handling a Gucci handbag. Not that his financial capability to afford one was in doubt, just that he did not appear like the cross dressing kinds, or cross accessorizing, or whatever this attempt of his was aimed at. (He owns an Audi A6 and 5 petrol pumps, oh no wait, I mean his Dad does, he just has the money to splurge.) A handbag in his hands (read: 2.5kg heavy hands) and that too pink. The class gasped in disbelief, and hushed murmurs could be heard. Was he in his senses? Or was he just too stoned to know, what was on his shoulders?

Aman was famous for having taken a few exams inebriated, and passing all of them with flying passing marks. Oh wait, you don’t fly when you just pass. Or wait can you?

Anyway, he entered the class, and sat on the first bench. The class was shocked. Aman Kapoor, the backbencher association leader for the entire first year in college had done the un-doable, broken the Bro Code, which all men, gay or straight or even newly turned, hold onto as dearly as they hold onto a girl who is way beyond their league.

What was going on?

The class had the least interest in Ms. Padmawati Sudeshan and her Advanced Statistical Methods class. As it is, half the class to this day can’t differentiate between her Yumms and M’s and the weird noises in between that she calls lectures, set aside trying to learn what she taught. It was like Pingu from Cartoon Network (including the weird language) was trying to teach Java and C++ coding to Nursery kids, just physically overgrown by a decade.

The class had to know, and it was getting noisier by the moment.

Next, Aman started taking notes, a sin. He could be castrated for that. Even Vasectomized, or 

whatever bad that can be done to him.

“What was Aman up to?” his ex-girlfriend of three weeks sitting three rows back thought. “Had the breakup been so harsh on him, that he lost his sensibilities?”

His best friends sitting on the last bench seethed in anger and astonishment over what had happened to him in the two month long Summer Break? “How could he take Notes? I mean “Notes” yaar, Chhiii!!!!”

And then was the moment of truth, when it all became clear. The pieces of the jigsaw puzzle moved effortlessly and fit into place.

In she walked, Aparna, as if modeling for a newly launched brand of Jeanswear (Get the picture?). 

Sat next to him and took the bag from his lap, took over the notebook, and relieved him of the struggle.

Love will make you do strange things.

Such is love.