The Invisible Avocado
Want a little taste of the few cultural differences that still exist in this sterilized and homogenized country? Listen in while a So Cal-based film crew tries to order something healthy in a crappy Hometown restaurant.
Except for the spinach salad at the Settler's Inn, with its bacon and egg-heavy dressing, I have never had a good salad in Hometown. In fact, it's hard to find a good salad anywhere, but many metro restaurants (in other states) are getting a clue and serving their patrons something beyond dressing-smothered, nutrient-free roughage with a few dried up carrot slivers on top.
Not in Hometown, though. Here, salad is seen as more of a necessary evil, a weak and sickly nod to "health", a mere transporter between cholesterol-laden ranch dressing and the local crowds' store-bought-pie holes. I say store-bought because even though Hometown is Midwestern in every way and puffy shape, and therefore should be a place where a homemade pie sits cooling on every sill, there's not a goddamned real bakery in town. But if you hanker for Twinkies, welcome to the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
Kevin and I sat at the table, completely without culinary expectation. We already ordered our breaded catfish, fries, cole slaw, cheeseburger (with extra pickle, please), and, yes, side salads. In and through the surprisingly smelly smoking section walks a posse of California blondes (with one den mother), members of the thin, hip crew and cast of Connie Stevens's made-for-TV movie extravaganza being filmed right here in Hometown! I've seen Connie twice. Once in a bar on the one night Kevin and I went out. Another on the sidewalk after her damn rain scene went longer than expected and her rain crane was hogging our booth spot for the Festival of Lights. Kevin and I unloaded our stuff not 5 feet from her. I could have accosted her for autographs many times, but, somehow, held back.
They sit, they peruse the offerings, they ponder. The waitress approacheth.
"Do you have the salad with the chicken?"
"The chicken salad?"
"No, I don't think so. The salad with chicken on top."
"We have a chef salad, but nothing with chicken on top. Unless you want the chicken salad."
(Scene shortened.)
"Well, you had it the other day. I don't eat ham."
"It must've been a special."
"Oh. What is this fish sandwich?"
"It's a catfish sandwich."
"What is catfish like?"
"Um...it's catfish. It tastes like catfish. It's good."
"Is it broiled? Can I get it broiled?"
"It's breaded and fried."
"Oh."
And on, and on. I think they ended up with delicious side salads.
Embarrassing. Why do poor people and Midwesterners settle for such shitty food? Would it be so tough for the local eateries to offer dark green greens, ripe homegrown tomatoes, a frickin' avocado, unbreaded and unfried fish? Other tiny tourist towns manage it. Why not Hometown?!
As Tourism Commission Secretary and Concerned Resident, you can bet I'll be working on this. But, in a town where a member of the Regional Tourism Commission complained about paying $1 for hot tea, it's going to be a challenge.
Do you know how much money I could have made catering for those people?
Except for the spinach salad at the Settler's Inn, with its bacon and egg-heavy dressing, I have never had a good salad in Hometown. In fact, it's hard to find a good salad anywhere, but many metro restaurants (in other states) are getting a clue and serving their patrons something beyond dressing-smothered, nutrient-free roughage with a few dried up carrot slivers on top.
Not in Hometown, though. Here, salad is seen as more of a necessary evil, a weak and sickly nod to "health", a mere transporter between cholesterol-laden ranch dressing and the local crowds' store-bought-pie holes. I say store-bought because even though Hometown is Midwestern in every way and puffy shape, and therefore should be a place where a homemade pie sits cooling on every sill, there's not a goddamned real bakery in town. But if you hanker for Twinkies, welcome to the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
Kevin and I sat at the table, completely without culinary expectation. We already ordered our breaded catfish, fries, cole slaw, cheeseburger (with extra pickle, please), and, yes, side salads. In and through the surprisingly smelly smoking section walks a posse of California blondes (with one den mother), members of the thin, hip crew and cast of Connie Stevens's made-for-TV movie extravaganza being filmed right here in Hometown! I've seen Connie twice. Once in a bar on the one night Kevin and I went out. Another on the sidewalk after her damn rain scene went longer than expected and her rain crane was hogging our booth spot for the Festival of Lights. Kevin and I unloaded our stuff not 5 feet from her. I could have accosted her for autographs many times, but, somehow, held back.
They sit, they peruse the offerings, they ponder. The waitress approacheth.
"Do you have the salad with the chicken?"
"The chicken salad?"
"No, I don't think so. The salad with chicken on top."
"We have a chef salad, but nothing with chicken on top. Unless you want the chicken salad."
(Scene shortened.)
"Well, you had it the other day. I don't eat ham."
"It must've been a special."
"Oh. What is this fish sandwich?"
"It's a catfish sandwich."
"What is catfish like?"
"Um...it's catfish. It tastes like catfish. It's good."
"Is it broiled? Can I get it broiled?"
"It's breaded and fried."
"Oh."
And on, and on. I think they ended up with delicious side salads.
Embarrassing. Why do poor people and Midwesterners settle for such shitty food? Would it be so tough for the local eateries to offer dark green greens, ripe homegrown tomatoes, a frickin' avocado, unbreaded and unfried fish? Other tiny tourist towns manage it. Why not Hometown?!
As Tourism Commission Secretary and Concerned Resident, you can bet I'll be working on this. But, in a town where a member of the Regional Tourism Commission complained about paying $1 for hot tea, it's going to be a challenge.
Do you know how much money I could have made catering for those people?
posted by lulu | 12:32 PM
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