Just before vacation, I went out in the backyard to cook dinner on the grill. Only there was a problem. I turned the gas on and lit the thing, only to have flames shooting out the front of it. Not a good sign. The grill was getting old and it was time for a new one. And the timing was pretty good, too. Got one at Target on clearance, and an additional discount on top of it because we were left waiting for them to bring one out of the backroom for so long. I assembled the sucker on Wednesday, but didn't actually have a chance to use it until tonight. I hooked up the tank to it and wanted to run it for a little while to burn off whatever residue might be on it before cooking on it. That was all fine and dandy until the propane ran out. Rather than trudge over to Home Depot for a new tank, we decided to go out to eat instead. (Shocking, I know!)
Ken's been after me to try this place over by the house called TJ's Cafe. The place has been open for as long as I can remember, but I've never been and neither has Ken. He's been after me for probably three years to try it. So he wore me down enough for me to agree. We pull into the parking lot and the place is hopping. I notice two old people leaving, going to their car. And two other old people. Already I'm afraid. We get to the door, Ken opens it looks for about one milisecond and turns around to go. I only caught a slight glimpse of a table of ancient people. He has a major restaurant phobia. That is, he can't eat anywhere where it feels like it's someone's house that's been turned into a dining room. Weird phobia, but it saved us from eating there. The fact that the youngest patrons were in their early 60s was enough for me, thank you very much. As we're trying to get out of the parking lot, three more cars full of seniors pulled in.
Instead we went to one of our reliable places. Firken and Fox. It's an English style pub and we really like it there. The place was mobbed when we arrived. We didn't realize that the football game was on and apparently this was a favorite hangout of fans of the Cleveland Browns. There was a huge crowd of them and they were all very, very, very loud. Everytime something happened during the game, they were all into it. Like a bunch of fucking losers. Half of them were wearing their Browns jerseys. You know, I fail to see a difference between this and a Ren Faire. Every time the Browns did something good, there was this one nasty hag, who had a sign, by the way, would try to hug as many guys as she could. I think she was hoping to get lucky, but I'm sure she went home to her cats. Alone. The men's room door was kept propped open because the losers were afraid they were going to miss something.
What I don't understand about football is the clock. We got to the place when there was 8 minutes and some seconds left in the game. We looked over the menus, ordered, waited longer than usual for our food, ate, paid and left and the game hadn't ended yet. Crazy.
In the proud of myself department, I asked if I could substitute a salad for my fries.