Abby and I have decided to stalk the Fredericton senior population to see where they feed.
We figure this is a good idea, because old people generally know where the cheap food is, and they don't move very fast. Even if they're driving, we should still be able to follow them on foot to the local diner.
This is plan B, you understand. Plan A involved actually listening to the coupons that came in the mailbox, which led to a disasterous Ponderosa Steakhouse experience involving 21 pieces of fried shimp and tiny chocolate chip cookies in the salad bar. There wasn't a menu; the food options had been photographed and stuck to the wall - which should've been our second clue that no matter what the coupon said, this was not the place to eat. The first clue was that there were no old people in the restaurant.
Those of you reading this from Toronto are smugly chortling as you suck back dim sum and sensible pairings of fusion cuisine, likely having just boo-hood your eyes out over Ontario's sushi debacle. "Ponderosa steakhouse?" Your eyes get buggy. "She must be joking."
No, sportsfans, I'm not joking. I'm hungry. My Toronto-bred tastebuds are insolently rejecting local nacho and burger cuisine, longingly remembering glorious pho and tom yum gai, streetmeat and falafel, burnt marshmallow ice cream from Greg's and beef carpaccio. In the absence of such glorious foods, I have been forced to settle for good, down-home, WASP cooking, but damned if I can find it anywhere.
Hence stalking the elderly. The way I figure it, it's like evolution. They've already done a lifetime of legwork to figure out where the fittest watering holes are, where survival is most likely and where competition from other species is lessened - why not take advantage of that collective wisdom?
Plus, they tend to give away free mints if you hug them. I LOVE that.
Comments