Home > Stories > Flash Fiction Month #3: Everything But The Taste

Flash Fiction Month #3: Everything But The Taste

It never ends… until the end of the month. Read the previous installment here.

There’s this new restaurant in town that specializes in flatbreads. Every type you could think of – pizzas, pitas, paninis, pancakes! …I guess that’s not exactly representative, and many of those aren’t exactly flat, but I had to alliterate. So many styles from all over the world, every possible filling I could imagine, Yelp reviews claiming good prices and large portions… needless to say, I had to give it a shot. Perhaps it was a bit out of my comfort zone when it comes to food, but sometimes I like to experiment. What could possibly go wrong?

Flatland (interestingly named) was built at the intersection of Elm Avenue and Steel Street, straight in the middle of a half-gentrified neighborhood that’s seen some pushback from the more impoverished of its artsy hipster inhabitants, as they seem to prefer inexpensive housing to luxurious shops. The frontline of the construction projects is about two blocks away at this point, so my dining experience was fortunately not dulled by sharp, ear-piercing noises of construction. The interior decorator must’ve had Edwin Abbott on the mind, because the furniture and decorations were rather more abstract and angular than the food. Upon arrival, I was immediately tended to by a polite and attentive set of staff, who saw to my orders and requests in a timely fashion.

Now, judging from the service, you would probably guess that I was quite impressed with Flatland as a whole. Unfortunately, that was not the case. I ordered some miniature pizzas as appetizers to hold me over for my main course – a dish of Ethiopian wat made with fresh chicken and served with injera. This was when my entire experience fell apart. Bear with me for a second – I’m not saying the food was bad, because to be honest, it actually wasn’t. It might’ve been a better experience if it was, though – I can remember almost nothing about my meal other than that it at least resembled what it was supposed to be. I guess the real problem is that I, a middling cook at best, could’ve prepared the sort of dishes I saw for about the same price and investment of time. If I’d done that, the flatbreads would at least be tailored to my personal tastes. Instead, I ended up wasting gasoline for a surprisingly… flat experience. I guess you can’t get lucky every time.

Needless to say, I can’t recommend Flatland, but it troubles me greatly that I can’t honestly condemn it.



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