Last night, upon my arrival at home, I carried on the time tested tradition of asking my husband what was going on with supper. I think I inherited this trait, but I like to know what’s going on with the evening meal within a few moments of arriving home from a day in the rat race. Call me old-fashioned but I want to smell something, taste something or be told something about the supper plans so that we’re not trying to make decisions that drag out to all hours of the night and I end up gnawing on the kitchen table trying in an effort to coax a few calories out of the woodgrain.
It’s not like I’m lacking calories, mind you, it’s just that I like to have that ‘security blanket’ feeling of knowing where and when my next meal will be. I learned early in my childhood not to question the “what” of supper.
Earlier this week Earl tried making a new dish that involved potatoes and ham. I knew this and was pleased to encounter the aroma of promise when I walked into the door. 45 minutes later I was informed that the dish was not going as well as planned and I was given two choices: pizza or Chinese.
I opted for Chinese and was subsequently punished for the next 48 hours. As God as my witness, for the approximately 642nd time in my life I am swearing off Chinese food.
We finally had the ham and potato dish the following night and it was delicious. I guess 24 hours in the oven can do that to even the most experimental of cooking endeavours.
Last night, I arrived home after being gone for an overnight and Earl did the same. There were no tempting aromas when I walked in so I was not surprised when Earl suggested that we go out. I was a little surprised by his suggestion of Ponderosa, a local chain restaurant that was recently reopened after being boarded up for five years.
The Ponderosa experience at this location was just as I remembered it from the last decade; placing the order at the register was clusterfuck at best. The buffet was a madhouse of people licking spoons, crusty plates and arguments over who got the last piece of blue jello, but overall it was sustenance and for that we are thankful. The chicken I ordered must have done quite well to have survived the boarded up period of this particular location and for that I must say “wow”.
I’m using this blog entry as a reminder that this is the 1st time in my life that I am swearing off Ponderosa. More importantly, I am hopeful that I will be greeted with the pleasant aromas of something delicious tonight. Or at the very least, news of something that doesn’t involve a buffet.
You know, I used to eat at buffet places all the time. Then I went to nursing school and learned just enough to make me never want to eat at one again. I know MY hands are clean, but those germy little kids over there? Not so much. Hope dinner was good tonight!
You know I’m going to think of this comment now everytime I think about eating in a buffet again. And that’s a good thing. 🙂
Holy carp. I haven’t eaten at a Ponderosa in lawd knows how long. And since I’m now more aware of germ theory than I used to be, I’m sure I’ll never eat at one again.
Hopefully it didn’t do to you what the Chinese did.
Unfortunately, it did.
The chicken and steak I ordered had the distinct taste of lighter fluid. I found that odd.