Last Monday, my daughter took me to lunch at BlackSalt Restaurant. The front of the restaurant is a fish market and the first thing that struck me is it doesn't smell like fish.
|here's lookin' at you, kid|
For dessert, my daughter ordered key lime pie with blueberry compote and whipped cream.
|key lime pie|
There was a couple beside us. An older couple. Classic east coast. She wore her hair dark and despite the fact that he was probably late seventies or so, his hair was touched with red. I suspect he colored his hair, too. When I ate all of my mahi-mahi, she looked over and made fun saying to him "clean your plate, Stan, clean your plate," and nodded towards me. I know when I'm being made fun of. Whatever. I was with my daughter in a wonderful restaurant. Her treat. Of course I cleaned my plate. I don't think my daughter was aware of what they said, that I was the butt of their folly.
I'm at the point in my life if you want to make fun of me, have at it.
BlackSalt restaurant was so good. Such fresh seafood. Of course I cleaned my plate!