I'm so bloody full I feel sick: The gammon food critic tackles an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet

Restaurant reviews by Justin Tanner, our retired food critic who thought the Coronation was fucking great

AMERICAN TikTokers, slagging off our good old British Chinese? Who do they think they are? That’s our national Friday night cuisine. 

I was so patriotically outraged on behalf of our Chinatown cousins, particularly Tony at the Sun Lok, I decided it fell to me to prove there’s nothing wrong with going for a Chinese. And doubling down.

So after a few sharpeners, I rock up at the all-you-can-eat buffet. I explain I’m Covid-negative, because I imagine they’re still concerned about the pandemic they started, and make a joke about skipping the crispy fried bat. They don’t laugh as much as they should.

I’m shown to my table in curt silence, a sign of respect to paying guests in their culture, and there’s the first problem. Chopsticks.

Fuck’s sake. I’ve tried these before, always pissed, and you burn off more calories than you’re getting on board. It’s no wonder they’re all so tiny if they can only eat what they can pick up with bloody knitting needles.

I get the proper cutlery and get in the buffet queue. And they’ve provided enough. Actual fucking banquet. Could keep the poor homeless Army veterans living on the Birmingham streets fed for weeks. Mind you, keep away from those lads, they’re dangerous.

It’s a marvellous example of Britain working with other cultures to make those cultures better. Sesame prawn toast? Inspired by sliced white bread. Chicken and noodle soup is from Heinz and chow mein, which is really nothing more than posh Pot Noodle.

I load up, going heavy on the Cantonese-style sweet and sour even though that irritates me as a concept. Sweet AND sour? They need to make their minds up. It can’t be both.

All that, prawn crackers, spring rolls, pork balls, beef in black bean sauce, ribs, trip after trip to the buffet until I’m groaning as much as my plate is. My bowels will be clogged like an Army shithouse.

Having fought prejudice with my gluttony, I get the bill and a fortune cookie. Each message is handwritten in Mandarin and bespoke to each guest. Looks like squiggles, but it’s a classy touch.

I’m halfway home when I realise mine says ‘fat cunt’ upside-down. Bloody charming. You give them Hong Kong back and that’s the gratitude you get.

Sign up now to get
The Daily Mash
free Headlines email – every weekday

Six people I'm more famous than even though you've never heard of me, by Doja Cat

YOU’VE heard her songs without realising and asked ‘which one’s that?’ at the Met Gala, but Doja Cat is far more famous than those you consider A-list celebrities. She explains: 

While you weren’t looking, I won a Grammy. While you were still considering Tamzin Outhwaite to be a person of fame, I was scoring platinum albums.

I’m the biggest cat in showbusiness: bigger than Deeley, bigger than Stevens, bigger than Top Cat and Cat Bin Woman. And I am more famous than all these motherfuckers:

Harry Kane

A soccer player who isn’t Ronaldo? Why even bother? He’s not even part of the inspiring Wrexham story. It’s pathetic that this Frankenstein-head-freak could walk into a pub and you assholes are ‘oh wow, Harry Kane’ and I’m sitting on five point five million Twitter followers and I could be tending bar and you wouldn’t blink.

Adam Woodyatt

How can a man have appeared in near-4,000 episodes of EastEnders for 36 continuous years, a familiar face to every man, woman and child in your tiny country, and still be less famous than I am? When I only broke through five years ago with a viral track about being a cow? You would have to be some kind of serious, bar-setting loser.

Alexander Graham Bell

I’m way more famous than some old ass Scottish trivia-answer. A guy who claims he invented the telephone, apparently the precursor to the iPhone, and I’m meant to be impressed? Nobody calls anybody anymore. This guy invented something nobody used and I presented the MTV Awards in 2021, and he’s famous?

Steve Davis

Word is out that he’s a big deal. Noted for his methodical nature, devastating scoring, watertight safety game and DJing. Motherfucker also scored a top ten hit, and his comeback in the 1985 UK Championship against Willie Thorne was dope. But over in LA you couldn’t pick him out of a line-up of puffy white men.

Jonathan Ross

Who? Hosts a chat show? One night a week at half past goddamn ten? Come on. That shit don’t fly. Chat shows are five nights a week at half past midnight, and the English host is James Corden. Jonathan Ross is just a rumour, man, something you people make up to fool foreigners. And he’s more famous than me? Fuck no.

King Charles III

Okay, you know what? Right now he’s got the edge. But we’ve tried this spin-off shit so many times in the US and believe me, he’s gonna be Joey to the Queen’s Friends. Angel to her Buffy. Golden Palace to her Golden Girls. His dress sense is wack, his Queen’s a horse, everyone prefers his momma and his boy. Bye bye Charlie.