Reimagining COVID in Australia as if it were a night out for dinner

by Paul Gallagher

If 2020 was the ‘entree’ and ‘main meal’, then what’s being served up right now has to be an attempted ‘dessert’. Given what I was served, frankly, I want to lodge a complaint with management!

The ‘meal’ in this metaphor came out super quick, and steaming hot for both of the first two courses.

Entree

Arriving at the restaurant, we were welcomed to a lovely table by the window overlooking Sydney Harbour. As we perused the hastily prepared menu, my wife remarked that a cruise liner was steaming in to dock nearby. The Ruby Princess was in town and it appeared thousands of people were disembarking rapidly.

A bit distracted by the sights and sounds of coughing from the Princess, heard right across the nation we later discovered, our waiter suggested a special for our first course: ‘Madam, Sir,’ he said as turned to see his advice, ‘our chefs have just added a new plate of ‘Functional Government’ and would appreciate you trying it tonight.’

We were surprised and had no idea what that could look like, assuming it was probably a throwback to 90s cookbooks – and certainly not modern.’

The dish was nothing short of remarkable. Minimal, but well-ordered on the plate, we enjoyed each mouthful of ‘Closed Borders’ alongside ‘Following the medical advice’ eggplant.

I doubt we’ll ever see this dish on the menu again, but took some snaps and posted them to Instagram so we could boast to our American friends still suffering from Trump Rot – a nasty dish from the 1800s that had been added to most restaurants in their rural city somewhere east of Texas.

Main

The main meal was brilliant, mostly.

The eggplant was back again, this time as a foundation to a large cut of ‘National Cabinet’ sirloin, alongside a healthy dose of ‘Bipartisan’ peas. I have to admit, some of them rolled off my plate as the table seemed to wobble on one leg, but that’s probably because it was a Victorian era design that was ageing ungracefully.

A somelier walked to our table with a large book of wines to choose. Daniel Andrews was his name, and he was rather casually dressed with a Northface jacket and telling us he’d happily make the pairing choices for us.

‘Everybody right to go?’ he asked. We agreed and he promised we’d be happy with the result. We were.

Dessert

The big disappointment of the night, that spoiled everything in my mind, was dessert.

First of all, it arrived late. Every other table – and I literally mean EVERY OTHER table – got their third course before us. The service to every other diner was superb: Chilled Pfizer on a base of Moderna, with just a hint of Sage that made their portions consistent and aromatic.

We waited an eternity it seemed, and then were told the chef had prepared the wrong plates for us both.

‘So sorry,’ the Manager told us very apologetically. ‘We have a bit of a supply issue, but we’re getting on top of it now, and you should both be served by midnight–’

‘EXCUSE ME?’ I bellowed, attracting the attention of EVERY OTHER table! ‘Are you telling me that we will be served AFTER everybody has left and headed to the night club to party all night?’

He smiled and assured us he was working on a solution.

‘A sorry would help,’ I replied, at which time he rushed back to the kitchen to hurry up the desserts. (Side point: We did get an apology later, written at the bottom of our docket, so I suppose that’s something.)

What eventually emerged was almost inedible: Hastily put together, wrong temperature, and a bland end to the dining experience.

Oh did I tell you the toilets kept getting locked during the night, while we were in them? Apparentyly, someone must have nicked the novelty key while my wife and I were each in our separate stalls, and we had to stay there until a tradie from Fairfield could reach us to break us out. What a drama that was, but the bloke was super accommodating and said he was happy to help.

Suffice to say, I won’t be eating here again.

1 star.

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Main photo credit: Jason Leung on Unsplash