Lettuce Get Down To Business
written by: Verity Mason
It starts even before I’ve read the menu.
In my thoughts, a parade is coming together, accompanied by a steady drumroll and a brass call. My critic’s mind kicks in, already cooking up a flavour show before the first bite.
There they go — a crisp, golden platoon of French fries marching proudly, their tips doused in ketchup like red helmets. A giggling tangle of lettuce leaves quivers in excitement, trying to catch the eye of a cheerful fry.
A pan hovers midair, full of golden-brown onion rings. Dozens of burger buns sing a rousing song about the fun of picnics. An army of beef burgers parachutes in from a barbecue-coloured sky. I lick my lips in response to a sudden breeze loaded with meaty juices.
A manic breadstick bangs a drum — probably a bit over enthusiastically, but hey, who cares? A corn cob in shades toots a trumpet brightly, joining the celebration. Bowls of sliced tomatoes and cucumbers drift lazily into view, whispering nonsense in their own word-salad language, syllables flying like croutons tossed around by an over-eager chef.
A line of pickles goose-steps forward, sour and bold, trailing ribbons of mustard-yellow streamers. The coleslaw group, creamy and cool, sings along with the potato wedge percussion, thumping a starchy rhythm beneath the sounds of grilled treats.
As the harmony reaches its peak, chaos breaks out.
An unruly dollop of mayonnaise slips from the bun ranks and smacks a tomato in the face. A cucumber slice yells, “Sabotage!” and jumps at the coleslaw. Spring onions scatter in fear. Mustard streamers curl into whips as the pickles strike back, launching a grilled mushroom into the fray. A beef burger shouts, “Hold the line! For flavour and flame!”
I duck as a flying fork whistles past my head. “Oh, be careful there…”
“Stand down!” roars a waffle fry general, waving a white linen napkin.
Silence spreads like soft butter. Slowly, the dishes settle back into their rhythms, and the choir picks up again — a little shaky, but determined.
A glorious banner of cheese unfurls across the sky; the crowd erupts again. The hotdog cavalry troops past, relish splashing in playful bursts, their celery spears jabbing the air like victory standards. Soda-pop fireworks crackle overhead, raining down sugary confetti onto the roaring crowd.
I lift a cool glass of lemonade in salute; the lemon slice winks. This isn’t just lunch — it’s a flavour uprising. Taste is leading the charge.
A voice breaks through the sizzle and song:
“Excuse me, Miss? Would you like to order?”
I blink; the vision dissolves — no more marching fries or soda-pop skies. Just the low murmur of the dining room, the soft clink of cutlery, and a waiter with a polite smile and a menu in hand.
Grinning, I reach for my pen and notebook. The headline? It’s already scribbling itself in my mind.
“Yes,” I say. “Lettuce get down to business.”
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