Today I had the worst spicy tofu of my life. First off, it wasn't particularly spicy, unless you count specks of common pepper as spicy, and if you do there is no hope for you. The peppercorn isn't even related to the family of capsicum peppers! What an unconscionable fraud the peppercorn is. Secondly, the spicy sauce seemed to be tomato sauce. Tofu is supposed to be the food of a thousand flavours, friendly with every ingredient and even courteous with desserts, but tomato sauce is not its friend. Don't white trash your tofu, people. You'll get no love in return. Also, tofu don't want no scrubs.
Of course, I still ate the stuff, because I paid for it and I'll eat anything if I've already put down money or entered into a committed meal-for-money relationship. My mother will return a dish in a heartbeat if the food is lousy or not what she expected, but she will not order anything else, choosing instead to sit out the rest of the evening with an air of puzzled disappointment. This drives my father up the wall, but I'm fascinated by the look on her face, which, like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern reflecting on their imminent execution, seems to be saying: Somehow it all went wrong... where did it all go wrong? Maybe there was a point at which I could have intervened, stopped this process, and right now I'd be enjoying those lamb medallions.
Enough family melodrama. Check this out!
