I went out in the peak for a wander and we decided to have a Sunday roast. Very nice it was too. But the dessert – chocolate cheesecake with a rasberry sorbet – came on a slate. A sodding slate.
Of course, the first I knew of this was when the waitress, handing over said dessert, angled it in such a way that the frozen, but melting fruity side took advantage of the super-lubed, flat surface ‘pon which it found itself to make a break for freedom and leap from plate into the lap of my as-yet-unaware-of-sugary-delights-in-the-vicinity son.
“O-oh” says he, sorbet melting into his freshly changed trousers.
“Oops” says the waitress, cruelly targeted by the evil slate.
Why do places insist on using a flat surface to serve food that is or could become liquid? What the hell is wrong with a plate??
On bringing a new scoop she said “is everything OK now?”
My two year old timed his “no, it’s still on my foot” perfectly