I love those occasions that call for a menu. Like a dinner party, a weekend of guests, a restaurant. For a dinner party, I create a printed menu to place by the table setting of each guest. My menus are less ornate, more simple as I progress through life. When I learned Jeff and James would come for a long weekend, the first thing I did was jot down menu ideas. To me, the menu is anticipation at its best. The meals leaned toward the crock-pot and Mexican. Few complained. Friday night was slow-stewed chicken for tacos. Sunday morning was
coconut french toast and for after church a pot of slow-cooked bbq beef for buns accompanied by
vinegar potatoes and green salad with bleu cheese and mushrooms. As the dryer and the dishwasher hum, I sit here full of brunch from
The real image was not taken: four empty plates. Something I've never seen at this establishment. We fell upon the manhole sized chocolate chip pancake, a bacon, avocado, and pepper jack omelette, and dark horse winning breakfast burrito. The small pot of salsa was empty. Did I mention the plates were empty? We will not eat again, but I pen some more menus.
