7 April 2018
I was hungry as f…, never mind, I’ll change the sentence, I was as hungry as a ‘fearful tiger’, when I finally found out the restaurant, which from its looks from the outside, and the smells from the inside, qualified as an eatable restaurant as far as my index of eatability was concerned, although, the looks of the inside and the smell of the outside, did indeed try its level best, to disqualify this specific food birthplace and deathplace, unless we are talking about home deliveries, off my standard list of appreciable restaurant which I have recently talked about, and had left me, for at least a few precious seconds, second guessing, whether to enter into this heavenly hell, or not? But ultimately, I had said yes. To myself. And I placed myself at a table for five only to be politely guided by the manager to a lonely table of two. Soon, I placed an order. A long time afterwards, I was still waiting for my fresh chicken kebabs to arrive. In those moments of relentless appetite and objectionable thoughts, when a neighboring table got served, I was forced into debating whether it was the chicken that was fresh or the kebabs made from it were, only to keep my mind off the chicken kebab. Soon, my deepest desires erupted and I called up a random guy who was serving random food on randomly selected tables. Upon enquiry, he disclosed that the chicken stock was over, hence the chef was attempting to acquire chickens now, which, according to him was resulting in the delay. Acquiring chickens seemed to be a state of the art technology to me. I continued my silent ponderings. Soon, I suffered another outburst. This time, the manager told me that not just this restaurant but also the entire neighbourhood is chickenless. I objected. He overruled. I gave up, and started to daydream again. Soon, the chef himself arrived. I raised my fork high up and threatened him to give me a chicken, for if he did not, I shall plant this weapon of mine carpus in the tender bosom of his, letting blood flow uninterrupted unless every single drop of blood was lost, bottled and sold as red wine. He mournfully told me that the eggs too were over. I didn’t care. I ordered chicken, I wanted chicken. He explained that since the chickens were nearly extinct from the neighborhood, the only hope to eat chicken was by growing one out of an egg. Not that I hated the plan, but in my busy life, time was a big factor. But, as he said, the eggs were over. That’s where the fish comes in, said he. I asked him to explain. He said that fishes or the pisces eventually gave rise to amphibia, which evolved into reptilia and ultimately aves. So, if he waited long enough, he might evolve a chicken out for me. I was impressed. But he didn’t deserve admiration. He said, the fish stock too, was over. I was angry now. I demanded a solution. He smiled imperceptibly and pointed towards a prawn. I felt dead. He explained, yet again, those crustaceans which are mandibulates and hence arthropods, can give rise to molluscs, then to echinodermata, but that won’t help so we will wait for hemichordates to evolve and then via protochordates like urochordates and cephalochordates, we would arrive at craniates like cyclostomes and eventually develop pisces from where obtaining a Gallus gallus domesticus would be child’s play. I wasn’t listening as I threatened that if the restaurant did not serve me within five minutes, I would perform retrogressive evolution upon the chef and convert him back to a reptile and ultimately to a chicken via some pterodactyl like intermediate. This worked. They brought me chicken kebabs within one minute. I asked, whether evolution had sped up? To this they negated and replied that this was just a chicken kebab. To eat a fresh chicken kebab, as I had ordered, waiting for fresh chicken is mandatory and as I gathered from their explanation, a fresh chicken is one, which has recently evolved into a chicken and its last ancestor was one from another species.
Ever since, I have never ordered fresh chicken.
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