On Wednesday night at the Bowlo a bunch of us have our tea. There’s a specials board, with the usual odd club-food things like steak with hollandaise sauce.
There’s a confusing ordering system at the counter: the specials are on a board at the back, behind the bain maries, and not immediately obvious; the things that you think you can order (that is, the things on well-lit signs in front of the bain maries) have to be ordered from a separate counter. So after you’ve queued for ten minutes and order your lamb cutlets, you get told that you have to go to the other counter and queue up a bit longer. This causes no end of anxiety the massed grey nomads who surge upon the club each Wednesday evening.
I was feeling lazy one Monday so I went in to get takeaway. I was utterly shocked to find that the menu was different to that of a Wednesday. There was a thing called “Cowboy Schnitzel”. What else could I do?
I rushed home, pulled the foam box from its plastic bag and peeled back the lid.
I’m not sure what I expected. Perhaps the schnitzel to be shaped like a ten-gallon hat? The chips to be as long as stock whips?
I got stuck in and found that the cowboy schnitzel has a hidden surprise. It’s not the cauliflower cheese or the melted cheddar on top but the secret cauldron of hot bolognaise sauce hidden beneath the bacon. I’m not a cowboy, but bolognaise sauce is not something I associate with the Wild West or the outback. Pork and beans, maybe, or grits (whatever they are). But bolognaise sauce? Hmmm.
Well, at least I can say I’ve tried it. Once.