Having cancelled our reservations to Ralph’s due to illness on my part, we decided to give Deliveroo a try. The restaurants in our quartier that participate are largely of interest, and we recognized immediately that the service might prove to be dangerous when we confirmed that they deliver foie gras, toasts (I should write a post about toasts and their relationship to foi gras and how they’re lovely all by their lonesome, but this is not a food blog, and I am not a food blogger; I just enjoy bitching about food), and wine. Yes, kids, that is correct. I can, in any state of inebriation, decide I want more wine, go to a website, click a few buttons (or, you know, paw at the screen if it’s the Purrito who is ordering), and a hapless 20-something on rollerblades or a bike will bring wine to my door.
This is peak civilization. Ten thousand years of civilization, and it peaks with shaved monkeys exchanging something with no intrinsic value (yes, our collective delusion around fiat currency continues to blow my mind. No, that does not mean I want to talk about gold. Shoo.) for wine via a network of electrical impulses.
What is this, if not (glorious) hubris?
I seem to be in a food-related rut here, so here’s a cat picture:
Incorrect order; send that thing back.
Fezzik In Paris 