The SONS of Thunder and I are playing bachelors.
The Little Black Dress is off serving as chaplain of the Miss Oklahoma pageant while also dodging tornadoes and baseball sized-hail.
Unfortunately, the Georgia Press Association annual convention always coincides with the pageant. So the SONS and I spent the week down at Jekyll Island. Not a bad place for a convention.
I thought about taking them one night to the Grand Dining Room for a special dinner. It’s the kind of place that requires sport coats and collared shirts, no jeans. You get the point.
A few minutes spent with the SONS’ chosen attire assured me we would not be getting into this fine establishment despite my reminder to pack nice pants and shirts.
Apparently, I was not specific enough. The two youngest assumed this meant a clean t-shirt without wrinkles and surf shorts with no visible food stains.
So we found another place, offering a “casual dining experience” either indoors or “al fresco.” I should have picked up on the al fresco phrase, but at least it included casual attire.
So we make reservations, head over and I swear every employee from the chef on down is from Eastern Europe. And the waitresses, as defined by the SONS, are “hot,” and once they spoke in those foreign accents, all three of them actually put away their assembled electronic devices and paid attention to the specials.
There are three types of restaurants: fast food; steak, chicken, seafood, (fill in your meat/fish main dish) etc. restaurants; and those that don’t sell steaks, but an experience, such as a petite filet steak au poivre nested in a sherry mushroom reduction sauce.
We were at the latter. Again, I should have picked up on the “al fresco,” which is just an expensive way to say “you can eat outside.”
These are places where each adjective used to describe the main dish adds a couple of bucks to the price. This place liked its adjectives.
To wit: Youngest had Diver sea scallops and Georgia white shrimp with roasted tomato, basil pesto risotto all dazzled in a lobster cream sauce.
Eldest, who was born in Alaska, goes for the salmon. I asked the waitress where it, the fish that is, was from. I was informed it was farm raised in Chile. Farmed raised and foreign. In Alaska, you only eat wild caught Alaska salmon or you don’t. So Eldest gets a little grief on forgetting his ancestry.
But he offers me a bite, and it’s not bad considering the source. Youngest then turns and offers up a shrimp. And then I in turn offer up some of my Veal Oscar, which is veal topped with crab and shrimp.
Next thing I know we’ve pretty much wiped our plates clean. It’s at this point, Middle Son, who was very quiet throughout dinner, asks for the last shrimp from Youngest.
In all the sharing – a rare occurrence amongst the SONS – I had pretty much forgotten about Middle and his potato skin-wrapped mahi mahi. Why not just serve a baked potato on the side?
I suggested he participate in this whole sharing thing. So he poked his fork into the only thing remaining on his plate and said, “I’ll trade a broccoli.”
There was about five seconds of complete silence before his brothers (and I) just pounded.
Broccoli? What happened to offering your best – your mahi mahi?
What a great teaching opportunity: not only doing your best but offering your best. So I start in on the whole Cain and Abel story … and I get five seconds before I got pounded.
Until next time.