The answer is “no”.

In answer to the question that, if my apartment were being bugged, was never asked since it wasn’t heard, but if my brain were bugged, was asked but silently within its nougaty confines: “No.”

No, the stuff I made for dinner was not something I would deem acceptable at a restaurant. I would not be happy to be paying for a plate heaped with an inelegant jumble of baby carrots, yellow bell pepper, tofu, and sweet potato (or yam?) (Aside: Ask Alexa what the difference is. She is sure to say, “I’m sorry, I don’t know that,” and then I can intone “Hey Google” into the phone and pose the question or just spin around, sit in the chair, and do a Google search without saying a single word) roasted to hell and back with several careless wrist-shakes of black pepper, salt, garlic powder, sweet smoked paprika, red pepper flakes, and a touch of nutritional yeast (which I will never call “nooch” even if you put a gun to my temple and tell me that pulling the trigger will not yield a little flag emblazoned with the word “Bang!”).

Did you get all that, what with the parenthetical asides that added more flavor and pizzazz to this snooze-worthy account than the seasoning did to the stuff I had for dinner?

Oh, and it was all dumped atop a “bed” of lettuce with my famous tahini-lemon-dill dressing and several enthusiastic shakes (again with the shaking) of Frank’s hot sauce. And eaten on the sofa while watching an unappetizing episode of “Black Mirror”.

No, I would not have been thrilled to pay for this in a restaurant. And no, I would not have licked the plate clean in a restaurant as I may have done here at home.

Also, the same answer applies to this question: Was it really necessary for me to devour a whole apple right before this hapless heap?

And no, there is no photo.