As we know it, and I feel fine. Mom, this blog entry is for you.
Last night Kent and I finally got to have dinner at Franklin Café. We’d heard good things about it from our realtor, Paul, who also warned us that it tends to fill quickly and you can’t make reservations. We got there about 6:30 and snagged the last table, which was by the window. That made for chilly eating but great people watching.
Kent had the steak frites and I had the roasted chicken, which came with brussel sprouts. My mother can attest to my extreme dislike for most strong-tasting vegetables, and brussel sprouts definitely fall into that category. But I decided that if the nasty sprouts were just on the side, in other words not actually incorporated into the chicken, I could work around them. The server assured me they were a side dish and furthermore that they were amazingly good. I remained skeptical but thought well maybe it’s time to give the sprouts another taste. I told Kent I would taste them if he would and he immediately said no way.
Dear me, our server was not lying. As I recall, sprouts have always tasted exactly like nasty little cooked cabbages, which I still dislike. But these had not a hint of that flavor—they’d been thinly sliced and quickly sautéd, probably in olive oil, and had salt and pepper and some other savory seasonings on them. Seriously they were good. Kent had a taste and agreed, then I ate the rest.
No comments:
Post a Comment