After having a baby mid-May, and being cooped up in our small house for several weeks, in late June, the Husband and I finally felt equipped enough to take the little tyke with us to a local restaurant. We live in a funny little neighborhood called South Park (yes, really), which is hard to describe succinctly. Low housing prices have made it a haven for artist and drug dealer alike, and prostitutes and gang bangers prowl the main drag. I've never felt particularly unsafe in my own house, but I definitely wouldn't walk the streets alone after dark.
When it comes to food, the choices in South Park are limited. There are several quite tasty Mexican restaurants including a delicious taco truck parked at the gas station down the hill from our house. There's a pizza place and a teriyaki place, neither of which I've tried. And then there's the County Line tavern. I first ventured into the County Line for a monthly neighborhood karaoke-fest before I was pregnant and sampled some of the fried bar fare along with many beers. The County Line is a dive in the truest sense of the word. Strong drinks and pull tabs are standard fare for regulars that look like they're from a David Lynch movie. You'll most assuredly catch some kind of disease if you linger too long in the bathroom.
Nevertheless, the Husband and I really needed some food that didn't come from our freezer. It didn't matter that it came from someone else's. I figured they would have fried chicken and that it would be the orange kind. I was expecting nothing fancy. The waitress took our order, then went back to cook the food herself (it was a slow day at the County Line). Just after the food arrived, as if on queue, wee baby Cooper started fussing. The Husband has created a rule that mama gets to eat first, which of course makes me very happy, but means that he often has to eat cold food. So, when the babe started crying, the husband took him for a little walk outside until he fell asleep. Meanwhile, I attacked my chicken, starting, of course, with the delicious skin off the breast---everything ok there. Then the thigh...I took one bite and, you're never going to believe this...it was STILL FROZEN!!!!!! At least this time it was fully cooked inside, not some salmonella-pink monstrosity like at Andy's Diner, but still.
The husband eventually came back in and could hardly believe this was happening again. To avoid a second leather chicken experience, I did not tell this waitress and instead had a meal of french fries and frozen corn. I think there was a roll too.
Come on, people, can I get a piece of cooked fried chicken, please?
Nevertheless, the Husband and I really needed some food that didn't come from our freezer. It didn't matter that it came from someone else's. I figured they would have fried chicken and that it would be the orange kind. I was expecting nothing fancy. The waitress took our order, then went back to cook the food herself (it was a slow day at the County Line). Just after the food arrived, as if on queue, wee baby Cooper started fussing. The Husband has created a rule that mama gets to eat first, which of course makes me very happy, but means that he often has to eat cold food. So, when the babe started crying, the husband took him for a little walk outside until he fell asleep. Meanwhile, I attacked my chicken, starting, of course, with the delicious skin off the breast---everything ok there. Then the thigh...I took one bite and, you're never going to believe this...it was STILL FROZEN!!!!!! At least this time it was fully cooked inside, not some salmonella-pink monstrosity like at Andy's Diner, but still.
The husband eventually came back in and could hardly believe this was happening again. To avoid a second leather chicken experience, I did not tell this waitress and instead had a meal of french fries and frozen corn. I think there was a roll too.
Come on, people, can I get a piece of cooked fried chicken, please?
0 comments:
Post a Comment