Monday, briefly sober and escaping myself, hidden behind a copy of "The Roadside Geology of Washington" (Summer approaches, I need to be prepared. For anything, anywhere...). And I find myself beside one of those annoyingly going-well first dates from Tinder or OK Cupid or POF.
He's pretty happy talking about himself. She's pretty happy listening, although she gets boring in the end and interrupts to talk about her own shit.
And reading and pretending to read and eavesdropping, and, fuck, really, I could do this a lot better, "CUT!", but it isn't my show...
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The boy after school on a Wednesday, he's had rehearsal so we're late. We show up around 6:30 PM.
The hostess asks if we've a reservation.
Ouch. This is the same question we ask all our customers, only this restaurant at 6:30 isn't empty - it is, to appearances, entirely full.
Not unreasonable, but sadly we don't. She offers a couple of stools overlooking the kitchen - discuss with boy...
"We can watch them cook..."
- "Will there be animals?"
"Will they kill them?"
- "We should kill them in accordance to our Koscher Traditions..."
He's catching on, getting better at the dialogue...
The hostess gets it. We take the bar overlooking the kitchen.
Now the place is full - fashionably, the 30 and 40 something set. Well dressed, well-to-do. Not me. But tonight, night out with boy, I'll pretend.
We start with Calamari and Oysters - a dozen - East Coast and West. They boy's not had Oysters.
The Oysters are fine. The Calamari, strips in a mild salsa styled sauce, not exciting.
For mains, the boy has a chicken waffle. Breast of Chicken sandwiched between 2 waffles. Exactly that, he assures me, and I can't comment further because I didn't get a bite. He's 15.
Me, a steak, rare, very fine.
For dessert, a banana-cream something. Good but I'm not a Banana Guy.
Overall, great atmosphere, laid-back and low key service, busy kitchen (no swearing or obvious signs of stress, made me think it was all an act. Mind you there were 10 people there, with such detailed and specific roles as "decorate desserts" or "Shuck Oysters.." - not a lot of multitasking.). Food, Good, not remarkable, nonetheless the new hot-place in town. The Atmosphere alone makes it worth the visit. And make a reservation, they are that busy.
Link: http://www.modelmilk.ca
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It's been a long running joke, threat, that I'm taking the boy to Hooters. And on Sunday, and not really keen on another Indian Buffet and having already visited our thrift shops and tried on some transsexuals discarded 4" stiletto heels (Who could resist? Especially with the boy along. Part of it was for the boy, the other part I won't discuss here), Hooters seemed the natural next destination.
If I'd bought the shoes I could have applied for a job. But if I'd bought the shoes I'd had to buy the pedicure, the nail polish, the stockings, skirt, corset and trench coat, make up and lipstick, I would doubtless have made a new world of friends but it would have cost me (and part of me is saying "Hell No, you MAKE money with an outfit like this...."), and somehow or another it wasn't meant to be. Boring old straight dad.
So we end up at Hooters, where I seem to remember kids eat free and I ask for a kids coloring book and crayons in the hopes that it creates, supports, the illusion.
The boy's not playing along. 15 and he's thinking for himself....
The first waitress, a tall brunette, boring, that bored "can I help you" look on her face. We look like we're having too much fun. The second, blonde, a little friendlier, she's the ticket. And I color, with my left hand, the backside of the coloring paper, with a big heart and "her name+dad" in the middle and little unicorns and rainbows and flowers all round, and whenever she approaches flip it over and shove it towards the boy.
We let her order. Then menu's pretty boring, wings and such, I'm not guessing that's why people come here.
The food, good for what it is, but before you rush out let me tell you anyone with a deep fryer and a can opener can pretty much open a Hooters. SO what you'd expect, but that's not a good thing.
For dessert, a brownie, giant, even sharing with the boy we don't finish half. If somehow they could have condensed the quality into a quarter the size it would be a tasty treat, as it is it would be easier eating sugar from a bag.
Tip, pay, leave, the boy wants to stay and see the waitresses reaction to the colored placemat, but as he refused to assist me in this I'm not staying, he reports from the car that she's smiling at the table reading it...
1 more off the bucket list. Now to go parachuting...
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I was kicking around the mall, killing time, reading my book, waiting for the car to be fixed when I thought I'd try something different.
There isn't much different to do in malls, which is why I so seldom ever go. Taco Bell, A&W, Subway, the conventional non-appealing options.
But there was a new chain there, Thai Express, and as I'm a big fan of Thai food I thought I'd give it a try.
I had the Pad Thai.
It tasted like the chef had barfed in the wok, stirred in a bit of oil and served it to me. This is the kind of stuff you don't eat for free, let alone pay for.
Absolutely god-awful appalling. Really, had they served me a filet-o-fish or a supersize fries it would have been closer to Thai food than the oily, flavourless mass of regurgitated noodles and sprouts.
Fucking appalling is about all I can say, for however many stars that counts.
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