Great White by any Other Name

This isn't much. Just a scene from my daily commute. Had one of the best naps in a long while today on the commuter rail. Also had one of my best meals in awhile. Not on the commuter rail, but at brunch with Bo' friends, the way Saturdays are meant to be enjoyed. It was the food, though, that made it excellent and not the company. Don't get me wrong, the company was peaches, but I see these kids often enough. I do not see spectacular home fries or plantain empanadas or well-executed scrambles enough. Brunch today and dinner last night taught me a valuable lesson: you can't judge a restaurant on how funny the name is. Laughter does not produce culinary delight. Good cooking does.

Last night, Lenny and I finally checked out the kebab joint Moby Dick Boston. The name was both confusing and hilarious (it was even funnier when we thought it was The Moby Dick of Boston, as the sign had suggested). As was the sketchy (lack of) decor and strict cash-only policy. The intimidating staff. And the half hidden menu. What was not hilarious was the food, especially the "salad." I kept trying to explain to Lenny that it was just pale lettuce leaves with ranch dressing that cheated me out of two dollars but she kept on insisting that I was just saying that as some sort of elaborate ruse to get her eat my vegetables for me. And maybe I was. But she shouldn't have been so accusatory.

Moi: I'm not pawning off my salad, I just want you to see that it's just ranch dressing! Plus, you should have some vegetables.

Lenny: Yeah? Try eating nothing but vegetables for seven years.

Moi: You were not a vegetarian for seven years. (I should know, I wrote a college essay on it) Have I even known you for seven years?

Lenny: I've known you since the eighth grade!

Since when did the eighth grade become a marker for a time long, long ago? And since when did something we did in high school become seven years ago? Somebody is not doing their math right. And it can't be me. I have a sudoku sheet to prove it.