I walked into the restaurant with confidence that afternoon. I was tired, hungry, and convinced that their menu picture of “Special Fried Rice & Chicken” was calling my name.

The waiter smiled at me, the kind of smile that should’ve been a warning and said,

“Ma, you will love it.”

I believed him.

Five minutes later, he dropped the plate in front of me, and immediately my spirit knew something was wrong. The rice looked confused. The vegetables were giving “I’m tired of life.” And the chicken? Let’s just say the chicken looked like it had gone through something traumatic.

But hunger is a motivator.

I took the first spoon… and my tongue started praying silently. The rice tasted like it had been cooked in 2019 and reheated every year since then. The chicken was so hard it could win a fight. Even the plantain beside it was looking at me like, “Don’t involve me in this.”

I called the waiter:

“Excuse me… this isn’t what I expected.”

He smiled again, that dangerous smile and said,

“Ahn ahn, but everyone likes it.”

Everyone? Who are these people?

I stood up, dropped my untouched plate, and walked out with the dignity of someone who had learned a painful lesson.

I ended up buying gala and coke outside.

Since that day, anytime I see restaurant pictures looking too fine, I remember: Photos don’t have taste.