I arrived early and really hungry to my favorite surf n’ turf restaurant in London. By the time this really ripped guy shows up, I’ve already studied the menu and know exactly what I want. Anyway, turns out, he’s one of those body builders (yeah, the kind with the g-string and orange tan- I asked). Apparently, this means that he can’t eat anything on the menu, which was ‘fine’ since he brought his own boiled eggs in a freezer bag ‘just in case’. No joke. I was too embarrassed to order the wing platter so I settled for a salad (lame). The conversation was as flat as the tap water he chugged with his eggs.