or rather naked supper.
A group I’m a member of had a supper meeting at a local restaurant. Eating out. Yum. Hard for me to choose, because even though I do eat stuff that originally comes with brain stems, my preference when eating out is seafood, which also comes with brainstems but with itsy bitsy brains, I hope. Or fried fish. Southern fried fish, cornmealed rather than breaded with flour. I only indulge in my fried fish obsession with a select few. For one thing, not many places get it right. For the other thing, I like to eat more fried fish than is seemly, and I can only do that with people I trust to do the same. Like my sister. Maybe only with my sister, and one friend who has loved me so long and likes fish nearly as much as I do, and we have an unspoken agreement that she won’t comment on the school of fish I’m devouring and I won’t notice she likes to end the meal with dessert. (I thought the fish was the dessert…appetizer, entrée, et al. With garnishes of slaw and turnip greens and a smatter of hushpuppy.)
The restaurant where my group ate didn’t have fried fish, thank goodness, much less a fried fish buffet, so I was saved from public gluttony. I ordered the shrimp po-boy. Which came with remoulade sauce and a choice of sides. Yes, I ordered the fries. The sandwich, when it arrived, consisted of four fried shrimp on a hot dog bun. That’s all. Zip. Okay, the fries were hot, which doesn’t always happen in some restaurants. The remoulade was adequate and the mayonnaise didn’t have a yellow film on top (you know what I mean). The bun was fluffier than your grocery store marshmellow bun, and the four shrimp were lightly breaded and delicately fried. I ended up eating the shrimp with my fingers, dipping them into the sauce. I had plenty to eat. Left most of the bun and some of the fries.
Lunch is an issue to me, even if it’s supper or dinner or whatever you want to call it, because I feed the boyfriend, and I want it to be something he likes, and I want it to be the best it can be. I want him to know I love him. If I am giving you his money for your food which I did not have to purchase or cook myself, pamper me. Love me just a little.
And if I order a shrimp po-boy, dress it for Pete’s sake, especially if what you have to offer is four measley shrimp, which is definitely not a fish g-orgy. It’s not as if you didn’t have lettuce, tomato, and onion. My friend who ordered the cheeseburger plainly said, NO TOMATO, and she got tomato.
So listen (I am sure all of my town’s restaurants are going to come read this blog to figure out how to get and keep my business)…when I eat with you, treat me like an esteemed colleague you want to impress, because LUNCH IS WHAT I DO.
I feel better now.
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1 comment:
What is it with restaurants and corn meal breading on fish? I have a hard time finding that here in Houston. I always ask. A few places use a meal breading; some use meal and flour; and the majority use a flour--I don't want a "chicken fried fish." When I am desperate, I will take the mixture. That is better than waiting any longer.
And another food I like and have trouble finding (this one isn't in your eating range) is pulled pork barbeque like we used to get at Coleman's in Clarksdale or Memphis. (I don't think the Coleman's in Cleveland was as good as the older ones in Clarksdale and Memphis.) The pork was cooked, stayed juicy and was pulled (or chopped) before the barbeque sauce was added. And again slap the coleslaw on top and you (or rather I) have an eat to die for.
I have a hard time finding the pork barbeque in Houston. Texas is a beef state. I had to eat at Tony Roma's in Lahaina, Maui, Hawaii, to find the sandwich--down to the coleslaw served with it. Of course when the plate came, I put the slaw on my sandwich and chowed down. Heaven. Or maybe it was the memories. Noooo. It was the pork sandwich.
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