The quest for a burger
A burger in one of Europe’s biggest cities.
Should be easy right?
Nope.
First, I refused to accept any venue that allowed smoking.
The prevalence of smoking in public areas across Europe, including where food is served, astounded me.
It felt like I was in Australia in the 1980's.
This ruled out almost 75% of the options.
From there we started what has become a Halliday holiday tradition.
It involves the family walking around looking at a dozen or more menus and then convening for a tense meeting.
The hungrier we are the more difficult it is to reach a decision.
This meeting usually has one of two outcomes:
The most frequent result is that we go back to the very first place we passed half an hour ago.
It’s like a cruel karma for daring to consider other venues.
The second possible outcome is total disagreement which results in us all deciding to eat in different places.
On this day, I tried to intervene by suggesting a sausage roll from the baine marie of the nearby supermarket while we considered other options.
But with Miss H determined to have a burger I was overruled, and we headed back to the first place we’d passed.
A place called "The Butcher", this turned out to be one in a chain of about six dotted around the city.
Here, Miss H decided she didn’t like the look of them menu, so on we walked.
This time Mrs H led the charge.
This was a bad sign.
You see, Mrs H generally adopts a position that a race caller might describe as "eight lengths back from the rear of the field".
So, when she’s half a block ahead of you, she’s ether furious, or in desperate need of the loo.
Today it was the former.
She picked a bistro and there was no negotiation.
Miss H selected her burger.
I didn’t like the look of the menu and decided to pass.
Mrs H then joined the hunger strike in protest.
So we sat in an awkward, tense silence waiting for this:
The lack of chips and the price tag of almost 30 Australian dollars vindicated my decision not to eat.
While Miss H was now full, Mrs H, my wallet and me were all empty.
But the tension was easing, so I bravely suggested Mrs H skip the coffee and we head across the river to one of the café’s overlooking the city and have a beer.
To my surprise, the plan was agreed.