Many years ago I worked for an American bank. The big boss of our dept was a short, fat Italian New Yorker. He took me and a few of the other lads out one night when he was over, but insisted we go for a curry, which we duly did. To say he was a strange, sometimes unpleasant character doesn't even begin to describe it. He got very pissed on three pints of proper beer, then sat int he Indian restaurant mouthing off about Mafia connections in NY then picked up the now empty poppadom bowl and shouted across the whole place, 'Hey! Gupta! Bring us some more of these fuckin' crisp things!!'
He then proceeded to order a chicken jalfrezi, as recommended by me, but insisted on giving it Billy-Big-Bollocks and asking for extra chilli. 'Gupta' obviously thought this was his time to exact a bit of revenge on the gobby Yank, so when the jalfrezi arrived it was covered in a green layer of pureed chilli. Of course, he couldn't admit that it was too hot, so proceeded to eat it, sweating profusely and taking an age between each mouthful, whilst we all commented how good ours were and winking at each other.
He didn't come into the office the next day.
