Soup-à la-Spare-Ribs

Ever tasted sumptuous spare-rib soup?

An eighteen year old school leaver landed a waitress job at a restaurant named The Pink Lady. Regardless of the name, it used to be an up market diners on the outskirts of a town called Aliwal North; an agricultural South African hub which is famous for its hot mineral springs.


Herewith a saucy tale of Improvisation:

A gentleman in his forties once decided to dine at The Pink Lady - accompanied by two guards and Doberman dogs waiting outside. Presumably a high profile or politician of sorts.

Our à la carte waitress managed a superb act of flair and competency managing to get everything right form the tip of her fingers to pouring the wine. Removing the empty dishes after he finished his main meal, she hesitated as she stared down at a small bowl filled with contents similar to brown onion or minestrone soup. A thoroughly confused frown furrowed between her eyebrows as she asked:

“Sir, but aren’t you going to eat your soup?”

Giving her a nonplussed look slowly followed by a broad grin, he then calmly replied:

“Well, I’m not at all sure about that. But if you want, you can have it.”

Horror of horrors, slaughter of the innocent, exploitation of the dimwitted such as in Black Humor novels and films... Turned out the ‘bowl of soup’ had been a concoction of liquid produced when people have rinsed their hands in it after finishing off a messy sticky meal of pork spare-ribs.

Our waitress earned a fat tip from our customer that night.

The dishonest greedy old restaurant owner however also took his unfair share and thus our girl ditched The Pink Lady which resembled a life of swimming around in bowls with some seriously dodgy contents.

For thàt reason and another: A neighboring town doctor presumably suffering from Torret Syndrome, once went ballistic following a thunderstorm which left The Pink Lady cozily huddled in darkness and soft candle light...