Yesterday I went for lunch with a friend to one of Melbourne’s iconic cafés. Yes, of course it was hip. Menu was of the usual Melbourne style. Whilst not marked up as such, several items did not seem to contain bread, plus they offered gluten free bread as an extra so I thought I was set.
We both went for the crayfish sandwich in an ashed bun. But when I asked that mine be made with gluten free bread, the response was:
‘Ah no, it’s a signature dish sooooo …. ”
‘Oh, OK,’ I said brightly. (I snap to positive not negative.) ‘What about the kingfish?’
‘Yep, that’s gluten free. You won’t be disappointed!’
When it arrived
– a jewelled plate of heirloom tomato, beautifully ripe avocado, a symphony of herbs and a few small but perfectly poached pieces of kingfish, with a scattering of potato crisps –
it was indeed a sight for sore eyes.
And then I looked at my friends little mountain of a sandwich – a golden bun (with a little dusting of black shit on top – I guess that was the ‘signature’) and a piled-high creamy crayfish filling.
And I felt discriminated against. I do realise that this is a teeny bit of an overreaction for this particular circ. I’m not being asked to eat in a different dining room, or being insulted or abused …
To makes matters worse, my friend mmmmmm-ed her way through her sandwich but I realised that mine was both lacking in flavour and calories. I would reckon on about 250 for the lot. That’s just under 10c per calorie.
I had to have a piece of cake when I got home.
Well, I guess it’s not all bad then!