I have long maintained that God -- or whatever you want to call Him/Her -- has quite a wicked sense of humor. My life serves as constant evidence of this.
Witness two weekends ago, when I came home to Sparks-Reno for a quick trip. Amongst all the various visitations and whatnot, I sent aside Friday night to have dinner with my parents. We chose to go to one of my favorite restaurants in the area, one which shall remain nameless for reasons I'll explain later.
I will say this: It's one of the best restaurants in or around town, by most measures. When I was the backup food critic for the Reno News & Review, I reviewed the place and had one of the best meals of my life. My review -- one of about only 10 I did as a food reviewer -- hangs proudly inside the restaurant.
But back to my trip there two weekends ago. My meal that evening was pretty good -- not one of the best, but enjoyable. Escargot for an appetizer. Cream of chicken and mushroom soup, too. Filet mignon, asparagus, potatoes for the main course. While there were some minor issues, the food was tasty, and I left relatively satisfied.
The satisfaction lasted until about 7 a.m. the next morning. That's when I woke up suddenly, with my body in Full and Total Expunge Mode.
I made it to the bathroom before the horrors began. I'll leave it at that.
For the next 36 hours, I was not myself; I was myself if I were starring in some sort of disgusting "Exorcist" knockoff. Food didn't stay down. One day, my entire food intake consisted of about a dozen small Saltine crackers and ginger ale. I was staying at a friend's house while he had a dinner party; while everyone chowed down on delicious Chinese food, I carefully munched on the crackers. It sucked.
I was weak, sore and dehydrated. At one point, I was so weak that I almost passed out. My friends wanted to take me to the hospital, but I declined.
Fortunately, I lived -- but I had never been that sick in my life. Needless to say, it put a bit of a damper on my trip.
Considering I never had a fever throughout this ordeal, it's pretty much confirmed: Food poisoning. I am sure that this fine restaurant meal was the culprit, based on timing and other things I shouldn't discuss, but I will refrain from naming the restaurant, seeing as I can't prove anything, and seeing as the Sparks Tribune doesn't like it when lawyers get involved because of humor columns.
Ah, the irony. As a young male of the journalist persuasion, I have eaten countless meals consisting of fast-food prepared by people making minimum wage with questionable hygiene. I've eaten dorm food that looked and tasted like gruel. And we won't EVEN get into the number of times that I've eaten at casino buffets with food sitting under a heat lamp for God knows how long and Gertie the Diseased Tourist wheezing nearby.
And I go to one of Reno's best restaurants -- one with a glowing review that I WROTE on the wall -- and I get hellaciously sick.
Yep. God's got one helluva sense of humor, all right.
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Forgive me for this item -- it has nothing to do with Reno or Sparks -- but it is so delightfully hilarious that I had to share it with you anyway.
Last week, one of Las Vegas' local newscasters was reading a story about "Bumfights." If you haven't heard of "Bumfights," long story short, it's a horrible little video featuring homeless men beating the tar out of each other and harming themselves.
Of course, because many people are stupid, the video sold thousands of copies. And you know what happened next: With the scent of money in the air, lawyers got involved, with the bums in the video suing the filmmakers.
Ah, America.
Anyway, here's what's delightful: As this major local Las Vegas newscaster read the story, he misspoke while saying the name of the video. He didn't say "Bumfights." Instead, he said something -- on live TV -- not printable here.
It's a vulgar word you have probably heard before. It sort of rhymes with "Bumschmucks."
Now THAT's news.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who will never eat cream of chicken and mushroom soup again as long as he lives. Jimmy's column appears here Tuesdays, and a column archive may be viewed at www.jimmyboegle.com.