In hindsight maybe I should have taken the black Hummer on the Spigelstraat as a bad omen. But at the time, how’re you meant to know? Maybe it was just an asshole driving a tank up a 17th century street. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.
And
then there’s always the chance that the two events were far away enough from
each other to be disconnected. After all, it was hours between the Hummer and the first time I felt drippingly
guilty about my dinner dying for me. Something entirely different to how I felt butchering a lamb, which shouldn’t be taken the wrong way.
Nonetheless,
omen or no omen, you need not wait around for your own. Just don’t eat at
Braai.
Braai
says they slow cook their ribs – I saw mine come out of vacuum packing and then
again 10 minutes later on my plate. Braai says they pay attention to their
products, but the burger we ordered was one of those grey crumble grease paddies
people would eat at Saturday markets. The ones that sell plastic crap, not the
farmer markets. Braai says they take pleasure in the food’s preparation but
then according to that card, so must Rib Express because the food tastes the
same.
On
our way home we wondered whether this corner of the Schinkelhavenkade was better
when the alcoholics were there. We decided it was; it was more honest. We threw
the food away.
