Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Val Thevictorian Loves Her Some French Fries

When we last convened, I reported that Hick and I had passed the muster AND the mustard at our dinner with the parents of The Pony’s prom date. Perhaps it is a bit formal to term a meal at a bowling alley dinner. But Thevictorians are nothing if not formal.

Hick almost blew it. Each burger came in a basket with french fries. Thin crisp fries that are so delicious when dipped into a paper ramekin of ketchup. But while the burgers were nothing to write home about, being nearly see-through in their lack of robustness…the fries filled up two-thirds of that rectangular, cardboard, wax-paper-lined basket. And even though The Pony loves fries, and Val has been known to put away a few, and Hick has a hollow fries leg…each Thevictorian still had a plethora of those crispy potato sticks left in the basket when the meal concluded. Where was I? Oh, yes. Hick. Hick acting like his regular scavenging, bargain-seeking self.

As Girly’s family gathered up their salad plates, spaghetti platter, and BLT basket to clear the self-service table on the way out to the parking lot, Hick stood up and announced, “I’ll take these fries home to the dogs.” He commenced to dumping them all into one basket. Which he handed me to carry out to T-Hoe. I’m not too proud to carry left-over french fries out of a bowling alley. Even a rectangular cardboard combo basket filled to overflowing. But we were still being evaluated by Girly’s parents.

Val is not a small woman. I could imagine the thought bubbles over the heads of Girly’s mom and stepdad. “Hm. For the dogs? I’m so sure.” And, “I hope the dogs get a couple of fries out of that basket.” Yeah. Maybe not. But that’s how I felt.

In fact, when we got to the cars, and Hick put his and The Pony’s balls in T-Hoe’s rear (heh, heh), I made a big show of stowing that towering basket of fries in there, too. “I guess I should just leave these back here so they don’t make a mess.” Proving, you see, that Val was NOT planning to eat those fries, and that they were truly for the dogs. Which they were.

And after all that, my sweet, sweet Juno turned up her nose when Hick dumped them onto the side porch, and ran into her house. What a waste of perfectly good fries! It was all I could do not to scoop them up and take them in the house for my personal enjoyment.


  1. Well, if you two get black-balled (hee hee) over some left-over fries, that family is one snobby group.

    Maybe Juno is trying to live the gluten-free life?

  2. There is no shame in taking home food, they don't even call them doggy bags any more, at least not in NJ. They just routinely offer you a box...but then we also have dirty water cocktails.

  3. It would be hard to give all those fries to the dogs. I'd have been tempted to eat a few myself.

  4. I always take home any food left on my plate. After all, I paid for it.

    Once, years ago, at the Olive Garden we were seated near a woman who asked for a doggie bag. The server presented her with a box labeled "to go". She picked it up and studied it before proclaiming to her companion that it was apparently called a "togo box" (pronounced with two long "o" s) in Italian.

    W still call it that to this day. We are easily amused.

  5. Better your hubby collects fries for dogs. Mine collected egg yolks for a mocking bird. Yikes! I was embarrassed to go to breakfast with him.

  6. I always get a laugh out of your posts, and today I laughed and learned a new word. I never knew those thin paper ketchup holders were called ramekins.
    There's nothing wrong with taking home food you paid for. I do it all the time, and some of it does go to our dog, who also likes french fries, but only if they're crispy.

  7. Sioux,
    I don't think they will hold the fries against us. Juno was, perhaps, full of something else, though I am certain it was not the eggs of the free-range chickens who drop them wherever they get the urge.

    I guess that should be on billboards. "Come to New Jersey. We'll give you a box and a dirty-water cocktail."

    We are kindred spirits.

    Hick always pokes his thumb into leftover rolls. "They'll give them to another table. I'm just keeping things sanitary so our rolls don't get re-used."

    That is almost too weird to believe. I see you have attracted a permanent weirdo with your magnet. What was he thinking? Trying to make it a cannibal?

    I don't know if the paper ones are actually called ramekins. But the glass and plastic ones are. We have a bunch of them to support The Pony's ketchup habit.

    It looks like I am also a kindred spirit with your dog. These fries were uncommonly crispy.