I smile, and am excited. I’m in Canada. And we’ve been invited to a barbecue. A special barbecue. With special meat. Where everyone’s been asked to chip in five bucks for the special meat. I sigh. And am an everyone. And so is Beauty.
This barbecue is going to cost me 10 bucks.
But it’s fine, we have saved up for Canada. I can afford 10 dollars for a legendary barbecue. And this will be truly special! Imagine it! A barbecue… in Canada… with ambition! In Canada they always do lots of meat. And ambitious meat? I can see why Mr. Host might struggle to carry the cost of that. I give Beauty a nod.
I am committed.
–
It is later, and we are officially lunchless, so near yet so far from eating special meat. I’ve already had moose and elk in Canada! How much more special can it get? Sasquatch! Abso-flipping-lutely! It must be! And I’ll get 10 points if I’m right. We get into the back of our friend’s truck, and stare as their ranch fades into the distance.
We are on our way. To a barbecue we have to pay to go to. Which I don’t know if I’m happy about or not.
We pull up at Mr. Host’s. He has an impressive Canadian home, with a large ‘gar-arge’ and impressive barbecue equipment. He has talked about smokies a lot within the first five minutes of us arriving, and is excited, as he lights the barbecue.
Hang on.
Smokies…? Canadian… sausages? Is the special meat sausages? Sausages only cost £1.50 in Asda! That’s like the cheapest meat ever!
I smile. Nah. As if. As if someone would charge me 5 bucks for sausa…
Hang on.
“He hasn’t even lit the barbecue yet?”
Beauty tries to shush me, but even she knows that barbecues don’t produce food until ages after they have been lit, because I am telling her that, loudly. Beauty tries to even shusher me, but I am angry-hungry, and losing the will to not complain. I’m paying for this thing! I stand up, and approach Mr. Host. I have bought him.
“How long do you think until there’s some food then?”
“Oh, there is food, Dan!”
He points to the table.
Which has chips and dips.
I stare at him. And haven’t had lunch.
“Yeah, but how long until the good stuff? The star of the show? The crème de la ostrich?”
I’ll get 10 points if it’s ostrich.
“Oh, I’m waiting for Mrs. Host.”
I do not understand.
“I do not understand.”
“She’s on her way over now. She’s bringing the special meat.”
I stare at him. But it does not make the meat appear faster. So I go to the table, and take a chip and a dip. I stare at Mr. Host as I nibble at my chip, and realise that there are just a few chips. And a very not few of people! And Mr. Host just said he left getting the special meat up to his wife! Women don’t eat a lot of food! This is a terrible idea! Although… the elk and moose steak I had was served by a woman. A genuine human Canadian woman. I exhale. It’s fine. Canadian women are good at serving meat. I’ll just have to play the waiting game.
I am angry-hungry.
And I hate the waiting game.
Some randomer starts a conversation with me and Beauty. They are friendly, and interesting, and seem dissuaded from talking to me very quickly. I am not sure why.
“Dan, stop snarling.”
“What?”
“You’re snarling!”
“I’m not snarling! I’m hungry!”
“No, you’re angry!”
“Fine, I’m hangry! I have to pay five dollars for this flipping barbecue and it’s not even… ten dollars! I’m paying ten bucks for this! And it’s not even…”
A feminine voice emerges from the parked cars. Mrs. Host has arrived. I remind myself not to snarl when I meet her for the first time.
Oh no!
I snarl. Because I hear her up close. And her accent is foreign. This is not a Canadian woman! And she has been left in charge of meat! Will it be fine? She’s married to a Canadian. And obviously likes to host people. Yes. It’s all gonna be completely fine. She’s married into correct portion sizes. She brings in the first bag of meat and gives it to Mr. Host. I watch excitedly as he reveals the special meat to the world.
It’s a sausage.
He takes a long, coiled sausage out of the bag, and proudly places it on the table.
“That first bag had sausage in it.” I inform Beauty angrily, who is desperate for me to eat something and be normal again. “She’s got to have done better with the second bag.”
She comes back from the car.
With nothing.
No second bag.
Beauty holds my hand while I mutter “£1.50…” to myself lots of times and watch in horror as Mrs. Host announces that the special meat is this single coiled sausage, before rationing out a one inch piece of sausage to each guest. There are 15 people at this barbecue. And there is one sausage. And no burgers. And no patience! I fume! This is sausage fraud! That’s the worst kind of fraud! That flipping Mr. Host expects me to flipping give him ten flipping dollars for the meat-quivalent of less than one flipping newborn rabbit! Beauty can’t calm me down, so forces me to give her the 10 bucks that I committed to paying so I don’t kick off.
“Wait until the barbecue finishes, Dan. There’s going to a street party later.”
–
It is later, and I have long since inhaled my ration. We are now in the street, where people are drinking beer at tables. I hate beer. And I hate tables! And I CANNOT STAND THERE NOT BEING ANY FOOD!!!
I lose it.
I charge over to Mr. Host and lay down a truth bomb.
“Me and Beauty are gonna go to McDonald’s.”
He looks at me, in pain.
“Can you get me a couple of burgers as well?”
I smile, and say that I will.
For five bucks.
I'm Dan! And I Blog The News! 