a bone to pick

I find things in my food. This is an established fact.
stuff
things

a bone to pick

This time it was the 44th Street Bistro, just up the street from my apartment. It was a chicken bone.

I would have expected it in the chicken wing from the buffet. Although this was a rib-bone, so it would have been a bit of a surprise, but not a shock.

I could have surmised that the chicken-n-dumpling soup would not necessarily be free of chick-n-bones.

It was in the macaroni, which shockingly enough tasted like fish. Kind of a crap-bisque if you will.

Never off my guard, I deftly removed it, Set it aside, photographed it for later, and went on with my meal.

Should I have complained? By now, I think not.

... maybe it's just me. - it probably is.