The menus had arrived from the printer and Delia was worried. Christmas dinner was important. Lots of work parties with merry punters dining on the company dime. Every restaurant owner knew that.
And she trusted her head chef. She’d known Henry for years, so she didn’t feel the need to check everything he did. But this menu seemed a bit… experimental.
She returned to the top of the page and checked the starters again.
The idea of ‘roast and tickles’ didn’t sound hygienic to Delia. And she wasn’t sure what a ‘chicken river’ or a ‘greeb salad’ were, but neither seemed appetising. She moved on to the main courses.
After putting the prospect of ‘roast turkey nad’ out of her mind, realisation sank in. The ‘teh’ was the giveaway. The problem with gourmet food, she thought, was that as good as it tastes, it wasn’t beyond belief that someone would serve a ‘lentil, nit and vegetable roast’.
She quite liked the idea of ‘roasted toot vegetable’, though. Maybe they could fashion parsnips to look like woodwind instruments. Warily, she checked the desserts.
Find this useful?
Subscribe to our newsletter and get writing tips from our editors straight to your inbox.
The ‘cinnamon clotted dream’ sounded nice, even if it was another error. But not when combined with ‘milled apple fart’. And the less said about the sicky pudding and the chocolate orange mouse the better.
She called the head chef into her office. ‘Hi, Henry,’ she said as he took a seat. But something was wrong. She frowned. ‘Um, have you had a haircut or something?’ she asked. ‘You look different.’
‘Oh,’ said the chef, ‘Yeah, but not a haircut. I lost my glasses the other day, so I’m wearing contacts.’ Henry grinned, seeking approval. ‘What do you reckon?’
The penny started to drop. ‘You look very smart, Henry’ Delia said. ‘But… when did you lose your glasses? Was it before you sent the menus for printing?’
‘Ummm… yes?’ Henry offered nervously. ‘Why? Is something wrong?’
Delia smiled. ‘No, Henry, it’s fine. I’ll get some more printed. Though I think we might need to find a proofreader next year, just in case. Happy Christmas. Oh, and I have an idea for the parsnips…’