What have I done? Why, oh why have I let pride get the better of me and drive this poor man out of the passion that his job so clearly was to him? I could have helped him, could have made all the difference. Instead I stood by and let his world cave in around him. What kind of man am I? I didn’t see it coming though, I couldn’t have known. If I had even thought that he was suffering I surely would have put my ego to one side and chipped in. It’s no good though, I’m too late. Mantega is shut! I noticed the signs up this morning as I passed Finsbury Square, it’s gone and it’s all my fault.
It all started in January when I returned to work in that first week of the year. I decided enough was enough, I had to get healthy. In came the gym, out went the bad foods. I remember vividly on that bitterly cold day walking into this amazing bacon emporium and ordering my last ever Mantega bacon & egg on lovely fluffy white bloomer bread. “Bacon & egg - Ketchup n chilli?” my little friend checked, he always did that. Mr. Mantega knew full well what I wanted on my sandwich but he always gave me a little sheepish grin and checked just in case I was in the mood for an upgrade to a Mega. “Yes please,” I replied, “I’m looking forward to it, but I’ll miss you because I’m getting healthy so you won’t be seeing me anymore!” How his face lit up in laughter, I’ll never forget it. My mate knew I’d be back, he knew he could trust me; he knew I wouldn’t let him down.
I did let him down. I never went back. How his business must have suffered without my weekly fix. Without my monthly contribution to his takings there is no way he could have kept up the payments on his little eatery in prime stockbroker real estate. It’s not as if the bankers and dealers were going to be flush enough to come and get their ‘bad boy burgers’ anymore. I should have been more thoughtful. It’s not even as if I’ve actually been good and kept up with the gym or the salads, but I was far to full of pride to go back and admit that he was right. It would have been beautiful too. His little face would have been a picture as he hopped over the counter in his little cycling shorts and gave me a big friendly bear hug, weeping as he reached for the chilli bottle. One Mega (2 slabs of ciabatta, bacon, egg, sausage and cheese) could have kept him open for another week.
I will never be able to make it up to him, never be able to walk into the office with my Mantega proudly held aloft shouting – “YES – I HAVE BACON!” I feel miserable. Good luck my little griddling friend, you were a true grafter, and you loved what you did and worked your backside off to supply us with above average butties for above average prices. I hope you’re OK and will be bouncing back somewhere new soon.
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