LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

O star of wonder

Alternative title: I curse my British politeness for not telling a Michelin starred chef that his Amuse-bouche tasted like puréed cat turd with a hint of mint. 


I have a mouth full of something called ‘Amuse-bouche’, it’s cold, it’s lumpy and it’s freaking vile. Etiquette dictates that I can’t spit this crap all over the table, but each time I try to swallow I balk (stop being rude folks, this is a serious spit or swallow situation!). The wine hasn’t helped, in fact it just added a sickly sweetness to the mix.

Take a deep breath, pinch the nose, 1,2,3 and…

Waiter: “How was the Amuse-bouche ma’am?”

Me: “It was….lovely…thank you”

Brain: “You lying soft git…It tasted like fetid squirrel testicles whisked into week old porridge and strained using undercrackers stolen from an incontinent tramp!”

My brain, of course, was right on the money.

As soon as the mix hit my stomach I knew I’d made a mistake persevering with it. I knew I should have searched eagerly for a toilet (or a cloak cupboard) in which to dispose of it. But I didn’t.

Each burp thereafter tasted of regret.

I then lied to the waiter. I had no reason to lie to him, he hadn’t created the offending concoction, he’d merely placed it delicately on the table…then loudly proclaimed it’s arrival to the room so I couldn’t just tip it into the nearest plant pot. The fact is I didn’t like the Amuse-bouche, food is personal preference and any food that reminds me of vomiting in my mouth just shouldn’t be eaten. So why couldn’t I just tell the guy that while I appreciated the effort made by the chef, I would rather have swigged a cup of warm pee?



“Squeeze out a good one Tiddles, the restaurant is full tonight!” … (source)

Perhaps it is because I grew up with the whole “you can’t leave the table until you’ve eaten everything on your plate” mentality (cue still being sat at the table at 2am because of a cold sprout), perhaps it is because I was in a Michelin starred restaurant and feeling like I just didn’t belong there (thank you Social Anxiety for causing utter panic by telling me I created a faux pas by pouring my own water), perhaps it is because I felt like some uncultured twonk for not really understanding how each element complimented the other (seriously, it just reminded me of bile) or perhaps I was just concerned that the waiter would grass on me to the chef and the chef would spit the biggest greenie (snot people, snot) of his life into my main and pretend it was pea foam.

Whatever the reason I picked the first positive word that sprang to mind that happened to be a step up from ‘fine’…because we all know that fine means that there is a whole shit-fest of wrong going on…then I sat there with a gormless expression on my face hoping that his bull-poop detector wasn’t sounding, all the while listening to my guts churn at the very thought of more food.

My brain was right…I was a lying soft git.

My brain was right…That Amuse-bouche tasted like fetid squirrel testicles whisked into week old porridge and strained using undercrackers stolen from an incontinent tramp.

My brain, of course, is an insufferable sod.

Are you folks more forthcoming with the truth when served something you really don’t like? Is there a correct form of Etiquette for this type of issue?

I’m on holiday folks! It’s possible to follow my mini-adventure on Instagram and hopefully I’ll find time to tweet…though I may be a little slow in responding to comments so bear with me.

R x


While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night


Silent Night


  1. I sometimes wish my brain worked that way… I tend to say immediately what’s on my mind without thought. I like to think it’s autism, my partner says it’s because I’m a twat.
    Anyway, enjoyed reading this, it’s nice to find a fellow British blogger!

    • Ruebi

      Hello fellow British blogger!

      The majority of the time my brain doesn’t filter and I just say whatever I’m thinking. In this case I think the anxiety of being somewhere like that added an extra layer of “shit I can’t say”. Quite honestly, I regret not saying how unimpressed I was.

  2. Omfg this is the funniest thing I’ve read for a while, I’m so sorry for laughing at your agony 😉

    • Ruebi

      I swig cups of posh vomit so you don’t have to 😉 … I actually might have that printed on a t-shirt! 🙂

  3. Seriously, you sat through that and then ordered more food. Here’s how I play these restaurants. First I put it out there on social media… Going here….. Thoughts? If I get back way to much this is Bullshit, I am not going. Secondly the hubs is in the Entertainment Bus so he knows when and where to go…. I don’t do restaurants that are that high and mighty. My favorite restaurant lately is Coopers Hawk Winery Restaurant…. They have a great cheese board as a starter and awesome main dishes… Oh and we subscribe to their monthly wine… Red all the way!!!! Need to take you with us to dinner…. Give me a shout when you are next in Chicago!

    • Ruebi

      M (my other half) picked the restaurant because he’d read some amazing reviews about the place…I didn’t really know what to expect until we sat down. Also, we ordered the meals and the amuse-bouche showed up out the blue…apparently it’s a free thing to show you what the chef is capable of – wish we’d received it before ordering the rest of the food as I probably wouldn’t have stayed.

      I’ve also never been to Chicago! One day maybe, one day!

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