Night Out (part II of III): Restaurant.

So, after studying at a coffee shop, I went to this local family-style restaurant on the main street, which is one of those rich suburban main streets where everything was built 10 years ago to look like a traditional downtown, mostly, though this place was in a slightly older building from the late 1960s, and was owned by a Greek guy and had Greek touches on the menu (saganaki, Greek-style chicken), like many family restaurants are, and was filled with white retirees.

Anyhow, I looked through the menu, and found two interesting items: the francheezie ("A frank wrapped in bacon"), and the Hawaiian (sp.? - "A toasted English muffin with tuna or chicken salad, American cheese, and a pineapple slice"), and I asked my waitress, a shorter old woman with blonde-ish gray hair and who seemed absent-minded, about both.

As it turns out, the francheezie was a jumbo hotdog slit open and stuffed with American cheese, which was then melted, and then the whole thing was wrapped in bacon, though I'm not sure if it came in a bun or not - I forgot to ask.

As for the Hawaiian, I asked her if it was good, and she leaned over me to look at my menu and was like, "Well, it's a toasted English muffin with tuna or chicken salad, American cheese, and a pineapple slice," and then I asked her again if it was good, and she was like, "Yeah," so I ordered it, with the chicken salad.

So, my meal was a cup of tomato soup (with orzo in it!) and a breadbasket, then the Hawaiian with homemade potato chips. The Hawaiian was served open face, with a big slice of bright orange American cheese like a Kraft single on top, and a tinned pineapple slice beside it. The waitress got me a steak knife so I could it up and eat it easier.

Later when I was eating, this table full of retirees sang happy birthday, and it turned out to be "happy birthday/ dear Dorothy..."

At the end of my meal, this table full of a late middle-aged couple with a little kid sang the song again, and I thought it was the kids birthday, but they sang "happy birthday/ dear Rosemary...", and I kind of stood up a little in my seat and saw the smallest, palest, most hunched-over retiree women I've ever seen slouched in the seat next to the kid, and I realized that that must be Rosemary.