‘did we HAVE to come up all the way here?’ asks hasanfulhu. i ignore him. we’re at the cloud restaurant at samann grand again, and as many of you who’ve been there would know, it isn’t too shy about being fancy. not that it’s got great decor or anything but it does have that water feature that’s almost a replica of the one at marukab plaza, the old relax inn. yes, these guys are the same people.

‘what the hell are you mumbling? are you high?’ asks hasanfulhu as we sit by the window, looking out on a fantastic view of the sea and hulhule. the view takes me out of his pettiness so i just nod. we’re provided menus and as we leaf through them, i realise everything is pricey af.

‘i think i’ll just have a papaya juice,’ i tell my friend.

‘yeah? i’ll have a guava juice,’ he says. he pronounces it go-vaa. he’s from gaafu dhaalu.

so we tell the server our orders.

‘i’m sorry sir, but you will have to order food.’

‘what?’ i say.

‘i’m really sorry, it’s the rule.’

‘what the hell. why?’

‘sir, it’s company policy.’

‘goddamn. well, what should we do hasanfulhu. should i get some soup?’

‘yeah why not?’ he says.

‘can i have a chicken soup? and the drinks.’ i tell the server who looks apologetic again and tells me: you must order another dish for your friend, sir.

‘Good GOD!’ hasanfulhu hisses, but he’s trying to swat a mosquito.

‘alright, how about some chips.’ i say, knowing how hungry hasanfulhu is and he’s not a picky person.

‘ok sir,’ says the server and leaves.

‘i think he thinks we’re a couple of losers,’ i tell hasanfulhu.

‘we look it, see, your shirt’s ten years old. at LEAST. and mine, i don’t remember when i even bought this.’

‘huh,’ i am irritated he’s defending the server and restaurant. ‘he doesn’t know you are one of our finest liars.’

‘don’t you mean lawyers?’

‘same diff,’ i say. i mean, we could’ve walked away, yes, we CHOSE to be here but my god, someone’s gotta draw a line.

‘my soup had better be good,’ i say.

‘you’ve jinxed it,’ says hasanfulhu.

‘shut up, here it comes.’

the server brings our plates to the table. the soup looks thick and creamy, and i start to feel confident about its taste. i scoop some up and slurp.

‘my god,’ i say.

‘bad?’

‘bad? this is straight from a PACKET!’

‘how do you know?’

lawyers just HAVE to be inquisitive don’t they. 

‘i’ve eaten enough packet soup in my time buddy. i’m calling the server.’

i raise my hand and he appears.

‘what brand of soup is this?’

‘oh it’s not a brand sir, chef made it,’ explains the server. i look at him closely. he could be lying.

‘really?’ i ask, sizing up his frightenened eyes. i don’t doubt my taste but my tongue DID get a little scalded drinking a hot tea yesterday.

‘really,’ says the waiter meeting my gaze. hmm.

‘OK then, can you pack it up.’

‘you want me to get the bill too, sir?’

‘yes, please.’

when the bill arrives it’s more than 350MVR.

‘ah fuck,’ says my friend but he pays with his card.

‘are you going to take the soup home to sampaafulhu?’ he asks.

‘no i’m taking it to a chef,’ i tell him as he drops me off.

the chef is my friend dhaleyka, and i have a dinner date with her and her husband kuda easa.

‘quick,’ i tell her when she opens the door. ‘taste this!’

‘what is it?’ dhaleyka asks suspiciously.

‘chicken soup. tell me what you think. honest opinion.’

‘did samfa make this?’

‘just taste it dammit.’

dhaleyka has a taste, and screws up her dark face.

‘what do you think?’ i ask knowing it won’t be good.

‘they used powdered soup instead of actual stock. and thickened it with flour or cornstarch.’

‘brilliant,’ i say. ‘we paid 350 rufiyaa for this.’

‘you’re kidding,’ she says. ‘where’d you get this.’

‘samann grand.’

‘more like semen grand,’ laughs dhaleyka.

‘that’s already been done,’ i say.

‘well, restaurants here don’t try at all because they know they can get away with shit. and the management treat the staff like shit. you should write about this on your blog.’

‘way ahead of ya sister,’ i tell her and pour myself a glass of her kombucha.