I am eager to form a complaint and demand compensation regarding the new recipe for your company’s mayonnaise.
When engaged in an evening viewing of what passes for BBC entertainment these days, I tried no more than a thumbtack sized drop of the aforementioned product on one of my chips and was instantly seized by a deadly wave of heat on my tongue from the array of alien spices which you have thrown upon yourselves to incorporate into the recipe. Only after guzzling a gallon of good British cow’s milk (which I also expect compensation for) did I recover.
As a Monarchy-loving British citizen forced to traipse daily through our society’s repulsive dance with decadence, I was furious to think that an establishment such as your own would sink to such hedonistic indulgence. If you ask me, the sign of a good food is one that sticks to a nice plain profile and does nothing extraordinary to your senses. Though you have lost a customer in me, you are surely well aware that you will lose all reputable citizens.
You will reap what you sow.