Give me a fucking plate

For eons (or for a long fucking time, at the very least) modern man has put his fucking food on a fucking plate. These sturdy devices allow for stable, convenient dining regardless of which popular material they’re made out of. Lately, however, the jerkwads who run a wide array of trendy eateries have somehow gotten it into their rosemary-pomegranate-reduction-riddled skulls that the humble plate simply isn’t a good enough platform for their work. Enter…the tray.

I fucking hate the tray.

First off, trays belong in the cafeteria. You ain’t got a seventy-year-old woman with flappy Jell-o triceps plopping dollops of gruel into finely separated compartments in between trips out back to chainsmoke by the dumpster, you’ve got a scrawny Millennial with a dumb mustache named Sebastian whittling star anise into tiny reindeer shapes while he daydreams about buying a new Christmas sweater for his cat, Jack White. The effect just isn’t the same.

And then there’s the material. These abominations are usually made of cheap metal and coated with something that feels a lot like chalk. The residue lingers on your fingertips like the aftermath of a bad Tinder date. It’s nasty, and the only thing keeping my food from touching it is a thin layer of the cheapest parchment paper management can find. Five years from now, all of us who’ve eaten off these things are going to develop an odd strain of magnetic throat cancer. The Juggalos will be so confused.

Try cutting a piece of food on a metal tray. Pain in the ass, right? Can’t keep the tray from spinning like a top when you apply even the slightest pressure, can you? I ordered dinner, not a fucking merry-go-round.

I know they’re not buying trays because they can’t afford decent plates. The kind of places that use these things all want to charge you $18 for a gin and tonic drizzled with locally sourced honey and draped with hummingbird feathers, and they it’s ok because they call it In Loving Memory of Harambe’s Gentle Caress or some dumb shit. Like a great individual like Harambe would ever lower himself to eating at these places.

So yeah. Fuck trays. Give me a fucking plate or I’m not coming back.