Whilst Manuel T. Waiter may be more bonbon than bon vivant it would still be true to say he has an enormous passion for all things epicurean. His enormous passion is matched only by his enormous gut.
As author of the moderately popular, Well Done Fillet v.1, Manuel exposed the psychotic tendencies of chefs, the petty foibles and rudeness of restaurant diners and the heroic undertakings of those magnificent bastards, the Waiters.
He also whinged, a lot.
But it wasn’t all laughs and jolly japes, there was failure too. The rancourous Mail on Sunday made Well Done Fillet it’s blog of the week and Channel Four referred to Manuel as being both British and cynical in the same sentence. Manuel is in fact Irish and cynical. Well Done Fillet was twice thrice shortlisted four times for an Irish Blog Award but came home with no gongs, gongless if you will, bitterness by the bushel but no gongs. The empty space on the fireplace taunts him so.
Manuel was surprisingly shortlisted for a Cosmopolitan Magazine blog award in the best MALE category (arf). This was both shocking and frightening to all concerned most of all to Manuel himself. But his attempts to bring chubby chic to the fore failed miserably. There was no real surprise but there were real tears.
Manuel lives in that last bastion of hope and liberal thought, Belfast.
He shares a perfectly reasonable two up, two down with The Cousin and an unforgiving spider who just wont let it go.
Manuel takes no physical exercise and does not enjoy going to the cinema nor socialising with friends despite what it says on his CV. He spends what free time he has romancing Little Miss Manuel and recreating the opening credit scene from Little House on the Prairie. It is almost impossible for Manuel to pass a flowery/hilly meadow without feeling the need to run down it, fall, and pick himself up. He misses the TV shows of the late 70’s and early 80’s. Manuel also takes a very dim view of God botherers, mouth breathers, finger clickers and Adam Sandler.
Manuel is a recovering Goth. Although he considers his faux doom laden goth days to be among the happiest of his life he realises that like being a stamp collector, train spotter or Priest being a goth is not a healthy or acceptable lifestyle choice in the new millennium. Manuel is only allowed to wear one item of black clothing at any one time and may only listen to The Cure for one hour a month. It’s hard but he accepts it’s for the best.
Manuel T. Waiter is 39 years old and bitter, a contented sort of bitter.