ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Last night at popular French Quarter trattoria, Mange Un Chat-Mort, a local woman played an absolute clanger and decided to order an Irish Meatlovers when there were other perfectly acceptable options on the menu.
After a week of hedonism over the Easter-thru-ANZAC Day holiday period, Marcia Toltz thought a meat-free option would be good for her and her committed life partner, Ralph Plank.
Ralph, however, did not have a 9-day festival of cramming a smorgasbord of carcinogens into his body. He was working doubles at the Betoota Height Municipal Golf Links, much like any penalty rate wage earner does over that period.
So he was ready to finally give himself the toxic megacolon he was craving over the break, which is why he looked at Marcia with mild shock and disappointment when he sat down after parking their clapped out Tiguan.
“I got a potato pizza and some arancini balls,” she said.
Ralph laughed.
“What? I thought you’d like something a bit healthier.”
Ralph was not in the market for something healthier. For starters, he didn’t even want to go to this ‘yuppie fuckhole’ for a $28 pizza. He wanted a deepdish BBQ Meatlovers with a green Ninja Turtle swirl from Pizza Hut. It would’ve been delivered with garlic bread and a large bottle of full-strength Coca Cola for $20.
“Can we get the, capri, uh, capricarne. Whatever that one with ham, beef and chicken on it is called. That’s what I want.”
Marcia nodded.
“Yeah, sure. Sorry. Will you be able to eat it.”
Again, Ralph laughed and said he’d be able to pump the whole thing, have the Irish Meatlovers in the car on the way home then have eight hours of deep sleep for desert.
More to come.
