ikea food

I don't mind it at all. Imo and I had breakfast there today and he was utterly unhappy with his "Swedish pancakes" with strawberry compote, whereas I had no complaints about my spinach and cheese crepes and smoked salmon plate. (All for $12, by the way. And that includes two coffees.)

I think it's funny that Ikea food puts Imo in a really bad mood (or maybe it was my impulse-buying, but, eh). I happen to like Ikea food. The same way I happen to like hospital food and airplane food. Is that gross? I mean I know bad food; I can tell what bad food is. It's just that there's something about this type of cafeteria food that's comforting to me. Also, every time I eat at Ikea, I remember this story that my dad used to tell me about the time he spent at the Institute of Social Studies in The Hague. The food was so bland, he said -- so bland in fact that one of the other fellows, who was Thai, had taken to carrying little jars of spices with him to the mess hall each time they had to go there for meals. I love this little anecdote told by Daddy. I could totally imagine his Thai friend, sneakily seasoning the food on his plate. Actually, when I saw this photo (from Daddy's collection of slides), I couldn't help but wonder: was this the mess hall where Daddy and his Thai friend ate bland Dutch food? (And could that be his Thai friend? Is he hiding his bottles of exotic spices on his lap under the table?)

I am finding it hard to believe that one wouldn't enjoy the food on that table. The milk in those bottles look extra creamy and refreshing to me. And how lovely that light from the windows! Then again, maybe that's just me, lover of Ikea food.