KAREN CHASE
‘What the hell do you call that?’
I looked at him for a second. Was that a trick question? ‘I call it what you ordered,’ I answered. ‘Full English breakfast: bacon, sausage, scrambled egg, mushrooms, hash browns and baked beans.’
‘Doesn’t look like the picture in the menu.’
He opened the menu up, laid it out flat on the table in front of him and jabbed his finger angrily at the photograph at the top of the breakfast section.
‘I know, but that’s only a representation,’ I tried to explain.
‘Not good enough,’ he interrupted. ‘I appreciate there will inevitably be differences between a photograph and the actual meal, but what you’ve served up here bears very little resemblance to the food I ordered. The bacon’s undercooked, the sausage overcooked. The mushrooms are cold, the
