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| - I am here on a google whim when I was starving. I was prepared to eat a horse as I forgot about lunch and went to Greenwood Park for a swim instead. You know how when you hang by a pool for a few hours, you work up a massive appetite even if all you did was bobble in the water and pretend not to listen to the loving couple near you have the most passive aggressive fight or the strangest foreplay EVER.
Scene: A public pool at high noon on a hot July day. A skinny moon-tan white mid-30s hipster couple, the dude: a weak chin and lack of hipster beard makes him not quite hot, the girl: a sleeve tattoo with koi fish and a super fug spikey 80s haircut. Seriously, I have cousins in Kenora more edgy than these two. Here's my transcript:
SHE: That girl Anna, you totally slept with her that time you were working at BuhDiDooDigital... long red hair, really thin, naturally thin, very pretty...
HE: Hmmmm, no I don't know who you mean...
SHE: Yes! She looks a lot like the Polish girl who is the hostess at the Drake only she's not Polish.....skinny? really pretty...
HE: Uhhhh, I'm not sure who you mean....
SHE: Yes, you know! Anna! Long! Red! Hair! Very! Pretty! Really! Skinny!
All the while she was chewing him out, like a manic fishwife, he was holding her effortlessly with his thin duke white arms like a baby because the water made her boney ass buoyant, and gently swirling her around in circles. I kept waiting for him to dunk her and say; "Yes I remember Anna, I fucked her AND the Polish hostess. At the Drake. At the same time. We had a threesome. And I got pegged."
But no, instead he managed to change the subject and ask her where she wanted to go for dinner as he stroked her resting bitch face head like that hair washing scene in Out of Africa. WTF did I just witness? Either he is pussy whipped or a pussy whisperer....? He managed to divert her diggity dog questioning which could only lead to the diggity dog house and changed it all so he could get fed.
AND SHE SAID: Let's go to that pub on Ashdale across from the library, but I'm not eating the blahblahblah
AND HE SAID: We're going to need to have a talk about why you won't eat blahablahblah
And then she broke out of his embrace and swam away, like a defiant mermaid. I didn't hear the WHAT she won't eat but I did hear the WHERE, so I googled "pub at Ashdale across from the library" and I got Eulalie's Corner Store. Hipster vibe, said Yelp. This must be the place.
So brings me here, to eat and more importantly, to find out how the rest of the couple's day went. I was STARVING 2.0, it opens at 4 so at 5, I brought a friend who is as anti-hipster as you can get. I am ever so slightly hipster, or hipster friendly, just so you know.
Well, what a delightful place. A sweet little area with groovy wallpaper and an adjacent bar area with taps, tv screens and bar stools. Air conditioned. We ordered craft brews on tap, me an IPA that was not too hoppy, but hoppy enough, if you are Goldilocks of IPA. I am not, I will drink anything but wheat beer, which I will use as hair conditioner. For all my hairs.
I ordered fried chicken and potato waffles and my friend ordered a charcuterie type platter. I realized now that was the thing the couple was fighting over, blahblahblah sounds like "tiddly bits" and maybe he prolly liked to order it as an appetizer and she was like no carbs or pork products or something. Huh. He should just order what he wants. Sharing food sucks. Why would you ever?
So my fried chicken was pure succulence. Crispy as a bitch on the outside, tender as balls on the inside. I was so happy, I take my fried chicken very seriously. There were two intricate pieces of parts my discerning eye could not distinguish and no bones? Or was I so hungry I ate the bones? It's hard to say, but yes, this was fingerfuckn great fried chicken. Not too salty, salty enough! On 3 potato waffles. Yes. Dipped in some kind of berry preserve. Sweet, but not too sweet, I prefer savoury side of any given menu, which is why I don't like carbs drowned in syrup, like other chicken and waffle places that will remain nameless.
The pool couple never showed but I got this:
From the inside, through the window, on the patio I watched a beautiful elderly lady grand dame matriarch-type with a couple of pre-school ginger grandchildren and their JCrew-type parental units. The lot all ordered sliders and burgers and she had the Fried Green Tomato Sandwich. She took the top off and methodically pulled it apart bite by bite with her elegant fingers. She ate the whole thing like a trooper, all the while engaging lovingly with her family. I thought maybe she was a widow? Maybe her husband, the father and grandpa of this brood, and her argued over proscuitto and if he banged some skinny bitch named Anna with long red hair. And he died never saying anything, always keeping his secret, and in the end she wins because guess what? SHE gets to eat the last sandwich.
Next time, wings.
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