I have no affection for this particular restaurant! I do, however, have a certain affection for St.Catharines. I met, in this very city on one occasion, a very pleasant skinhead fellow who told me the location of an equally pleasant flea market. I do, oh, I do, like to be given information by jovial skinheads. What I do not like (I am shaking my fist), however, is any restaurant that leaves me with a grotesquely inflamed prostate--a giant, engorged, dysfunctional prostate. A prostate so large that it is impossible to urinate. There is no other current explanation for my "going problem"--and I suspect, as does my wife of forty-seven years, Penelope, that Bansaree's food is so lousy, so repugnant, that it inhibits proper prostrate function in men.
Bansaree might as well be run by a gaggle of geese, as not only is the food utterly tasteless, but it borders on inedible--comparable to eating a soggy breakfast of frosted flakes out of an unwashed bidet. Bidets should be washed, you're aware, most often!
The meal itself? My curry, I recall, was dry and clumpy and you see, of course, why I am so furious about Bansaree's flavorless curry, as i've already told you it inhibits healthy prostrate function in men.
You're not convinced at all. No worries, I shall now be noticeably more specific, but no less adorable.
I wonder, dear fellow, if you've ever had such a lousy dosa! Sure, there are pictures of all sorts of dosas on the window--but when you go in, guess what? Two dosas. This is a vulgar misrepresentation! Oh, do you like poster art? Do you, would you say, prefer poster art in lieu of actual food? I suspect my nemesis, Fistola Pita, must have placed posters of these dosas in the window of Bansaree prior to my arrival, in an effort to embarrass me.
Though I hate Fistola Pita with all of my blackened soul, I feel obliged to fully articulate my further dissatisfaction with Bansaree. Oh, how it gets worse! My dear wife, who you really should meet (look, but don't touch, gentle reader), who is really the most excitable, personable woman any of you have ever seen, was crestfallen by the staff's inability to remember that, in fact, they had a customer. May I please have some water to quench my thirst, kind sir? Will you please, dear sir, take my order for a dosa even though you're supposed to, according to the sign in the window, have over 20 different dosas but you only have two?
I really do suggest that only reason anyone should go to Bansaree is to urinate naughtily on the floor. You may urinate naughtily outside the restaurant, as well, if you like. You understand, of course, how much I value the prospect of a healthy, utterly unruly, public urination, given my current condition. read more