Fine dining

This being a blog, I am obligated to report on topics of food consumed and parking spots occupied. Tonight I had a lovely mahi mahi with a fruit salsa and coconut risotto, and the highlight of the evening was the creepy waiter we always get at this establishment. We parked right outside the front door, in case you were wondering. This is a one-horse town, with ample parking day or night, like South Park.

Creepy Waiter knows us by name now, and he delights in rattling off the specials while making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. He always looks like he’s about to crack up, and we try really hard not to do the same. On our last visit, he described salmon as a “pink-flavored fish,” and mahi mahi is pronounced “maui maui.”

He also let us know how swamped he was on Valentine’s Day, and I deftly inquired “Wow, they must work you all the time, do you ever get a day off?” So now we know to come on Mondays instead.

Still, this is not as bad as the time Mr. H’s mother picked the restaurant where the waitress rammed the bottle of wine between her thighs and pulled for dear life on the cork, right next to the table. I got kicked under the table when I said “Someone’s been kegeling!”


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