Back to Manchu Bistro

I refined the gibberish generator today, and to celebrate this achievement, we went out to dinner with some friends.

Some might say that we were going to dinner because one acquaintance was newly in town, or because another was fresh back from her holidays, but that's frankly ridiculous. That suggests there might be something more important in the world than me. Honestly, the temerity and big-headed obstinacy of some people in disagreeing to this never ceases to amaze me.

We had booked a table at Manchu Bistro, which (as per last time) was a tacit admission that we wanted to be seated right by the toilets. My girlfriend insisted this was fine, but I think that was because she likes the smell of drain cleaner. She told me not to complain so much. I unfurled my napkin. There was a hole burnt in it.

Apart from this, there were no other service mishaps (excluding serving up two bottles of $400 white wine) and the food was excellent as before: shredded pork, braised aubergine and tofu for me. We were the noisy table in the restaurant, manang to out-yell a party of four SATC-type ladies, and two men trying to have a quiet business dinner, and another table trying to have what looked like a quiet meal.

Perhaps that was why we'd been hidden down by the toilet.

Still, better that than being single-celled organisms, as the 'Shadow Shogun' apparently called Americans yesterday. It's not often that an entire race gets compared to the noble amoeba: I wonder exactly what facet of the American psyche he was referring to.