Over a civilized lunch at the civilized Theater District restaurant ViceVersa a disturbing trend was brought to my attention.
Pepper mill abuse.
My dining companion, a good friend and business associate, noted it when our waiter came over with a substantial specimen, asking if we wanted some of his freshly ground stuff.
OK. He didn't quite put it that way. Still, he did look awfully disappointed when we didn't take him up on the offer.
It all begs the question: Why the heck do restaurants seem hell-bent on bringing over a phallic grinding device at the onset of a meal?
And, when you get down to it, as my lunch partner said, "Why can't the chef season my food properly before it comes to the table in the first place?"
Clearly, I'll need to mount a full-scale investigation into this pepper mill predilection -- especially if the next waiter who offers me a crack at his over-sized pepper mill is hot.
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