At the cost of $4.50, we here at The Ubyssey expected a food item of relatively large quantity and quality. Surely what the server would hand us would be a good, filling confection, sporting flavours typical of Mexican food. Surely it would come with typical condiments such as salsa and sour cream. Surely it would taste like something more than soggy cardboard. What fools we were.
Ola, our sports editor, ordered. After a few minutes, he was handed a paper bag which contained the anticipated quesadilla. There was no salsa, sour cream or condiment of any kind. What his hard-earned cash had gotten him was a thin piece of tortilla, folded over with a truly pathetic amount of cheese inside and seemingly nothing else.
What we were led to believe would be a filling indulgence, the likes of which all Mexican food are obliged to be, was in fact nothing more than a pathetic grilled cheese sandwich with a single strip of shitty, processed ham enclosed inside.
I watched in sadness as Ola's eyes lingered on this morsel of misery, his expression of hope slowly dissipating into a deep existential mourning for the meal that could have been. As he held it aloft, pinched between two fingers, the quesadilla drooped like a malnourished sapling deprived of sun. A small strand of cheese slowly fell from the lip of the bland tortilla, making its descent to the earth in what could only have been a desperate attempt to escape being implicated in the shameful display of cooking that was this food item.
Consuming the Soup Market's quesadilla is an exercise in coping with disappointment that is largely responsible for sending our sports editor on the roller coaster of doubt and emotional crisis that will keep him in its clutches for days. It would be more fulfilling to melt cheese on a folded copy of our newspaper and eat that instead.