Hi again.
I didn't want to totally end this report on a cold note, and just wanted to share with you all ONE last chapter from the past, this is a personal favorite of mine and I still remember writing it and almost peeing my pants I was having so much fun doing it. This chapter was followed by an actual picture fo the cow scene, and no, don't ask for that again.
Now, I can totally understand that many of you are waiting on pins and needles for for my critique, of the Ristorante, Boma. And I can totally understand that, considering my vast culinary knowledge in all things fine dining.
I am up for the challenge, and I shall not dissapoint.
The vittles here are really weird!
After we got our mini table, it was time to start.
And I wouldn't let Diane get more than 3 feet away from me. One problem right off the bat was I was afraid I was going to eat things right off a bat.
Ok, that sentence derailed mid-way through. \
I meant to say "one problem right off the bat" was that all the labels for the vittles, had really small labels attached to them. And labels that are displayed really low. Why should this be a problem you ask? I'll be more than happy to tell you, my friends.
I can't see them.
They are too little for the "regular" part of my glasses, but too far away for the bifocal part. So, for me to read them, I would have to make an entire fool out of myself, and do the duck walk, by the tables. Now, I have nothing against making a fool out of myself, as you all well know, But I did see the "Just say no to Limbo" sign, and I will never again argue with that sign.
This now leaves me totally at Dianes' mercy.
Most intelligent people know better than to be dropped off here. The last thing in the world I want to here back at the table is,,, "So, how's the platypus?"
"Honey, you love me right?"
"Of course I do, why do you ask now?" she said.
"Because I like to hear it now and then, that's all. "
We started with salads.
There was this big bowl of weeds, and I mean dark, green weeds, this you are supposed to "tong" onto your plate.
I have never been that fond of green food. And the darker the green, the ickier it is. This was mostly "Forrest Green".
I prefer "light green" or "khaki green". Just not "forrest green".
And I could tell the guy standing next to me , who was using the tongs to sift through it felt the same way.
All of a sudden, a small piece of daylight appeared.
Could it be?
Yes!
That is a big piece of Iceberg lettuce if I ever saw one.
Only problem was, he saw it too.
He froze, glanced at me standing next to him, and time stopped!
We both slowly turned back to the bowl.
Time not only started up again, it went into hyper mode.
He had position on me, plus he had the tongs, but these are not "easy squeezy tongs," these are the "one in each hand" tongs.
He drew first.
His right hand came up and he pulled the trigger trying to "scoop" that piece of iceberg out of there. I immediately grabbed my "as of yet, unused fork' in my left hand. When it slid back off his tong, into the bowl, I just stabbed it. As I was extricating my prize from the rest of the savannah, we both saw the reason he couldn't grab it. It was still attached to another huge piece of iceberg that had remained hidden.
Gleaming, I turned to him as he was staring in disbelief, and said,
"Don't feel badly, I'm not really left handed."
This was followed by, "Are you done playing?"
Oh, yeah, Diane.
She then directed me to what I can adorn the "salad" with, but now I'm looking for dressing.
I'm used to Italian, French, Russian, Thousand Island, those ones.
Not Kenyan, Ugandan, Naiobi.
I chose the Mozambique, it looked like french to me.
Ok, I made the last part up. Can't remember what I put on it.
I then found this stuff that looked surprisingly like macaroni salad. As I was putting some on my plate I asked her, "These aren't maggots, are they?"
"No, of course not, stop it!" "Besides, can't you see the holes going through the center?"
"Yeah, I just thought that they might have been filleted first."
Ok, this just turned into a two parter, I just jumped 3 feet out of my chair from the thunder, and I dunt wanna lose this. be back shortly.
Once I finished chopping it up, my bacon bits, croutons, shredded cheese, pieces of hard boiled ostrich eggs, shredded onions, sunflower seeds, and culy noodles, with a hint of iceberg lettuce, came out pretty good. I also had taken a bowl of this extremely exotic soup, ,,,chicken.
Well, that's what the sign said, anyway, right Diane?
Diane?
But it was "white" chicken soup.
I never saw "white" chicken soup. To me, chicken soup is kinda yellow.
"It's because of all the sunlight," she told me. "The chickens are all albino."
As I was eating it, the nickel dropped in.
"Wait a minute!"
"All chickens are albino!"
And it didn't taste like chicken soup to me, not sure what it DID taste like, but it wasn't chicken soup.
Halfway through, I pushed it away.
We go back up there for the main courses, but, now I don't trust her.
Nope, not at all.
I think she wanted that piece of iceberg lettuce.
But this is the most critical time of all, when I need her help.
Salads are one thing, now we are talking major mystery meat.
"Honey? You still love me, right?"
"UP YOURS!"
Yep, she wanted that piece of iceberg after all.
I'm lost.
I can't trust her now. She has this evil smirk every time I ask her something, and if she does answer, it kept ending with, "Mbwhahahaha!"
I started putting some white stuff on my plate, it looked like a kind of potatoes, scalloped.
She stopped me. "Trust me, you don't want that." What is it?
"I don't know," she said, "I don't recognize the name from all ears menu."
" But it looks and smells like some kind of herring in a cauliflower based sauce."
Now, I have no idea if they even have yucky cauliflower in Africa, and I'm not really buying the herring bit either. But this little nebo isn't taking any chances.
Then I come across something that looks like smoked sausage.
"WHat's this"? I asked.
"Sausage".
" I know that, but what kind?"
"Sausage, that's all it says. "
Great. I didn't believe her and thought I just might get the platypus comment yet, but I took some.
Then I came across these things that looked like tater tots. Or Hush puppies. They gotta be safe, right? I put a bunch on my plate. I grabbed some bread, and since Smidgy was occupied, and I didn't trust her anymore anyway, I just took little tablespoons of things that I don't know what they are, and put them on my plate.
When she caught up to me, she looked at my plate, but didn't say a word.
Shoot. I didn't know if that's a good sign or bad.
With me leading, we got up to the carving kiosk.
"OH GEEZ! That things' still got a huge bone sticking out of it , or maybe a horn!"
"No, Steve, that's a skewer, it keeps the meat from falling apart."
"I knew that!""Just checking."
The guy there was slicing off prime rib, and another big chunk was lamb.
No, I don't like dead sheep. The smell really bothers me, so i got a slice of beef and hurried away.
I've still only got half a plate full, and went back against the grain looking for what I might have missed.
There has to be some kind of potatoes here, somewhere.
Just then a server came behind, and I cheated, and asked him.
He pointed me to a bin that at first didn't look like potatoes to me, so, I actually pretended to drop my napkin and squatted down to read the sign.
"Potatoe Afritude"
Yes, I think I have that right.
Well, I get enough "Afritude" as it is, I don't need any potatoes giveing me any more, so I passed on it, and grabbed a piece of bread.
Go ahead, find the butter. I dare you!
Back at the table, our waitress came by, who had the incredibly difficult task of bringing us our cokes, and, um, well, I guess, finding us again.
And I asked her for butter. It seemed like the logical , and easy way out , thing to do, right?
Au Contraire!
Whichever African country she originated in, evidently they don't have a word for butter. And the more I tried to explain it, the worse she got confused.
And then I did what I always do when I have a language problem with somebody.
I make this feeble attempt to talk in Spanish.
Which, I can't speak either.
"Senora? Uno buttero, por favor?"
yep, that'll work.
I was afraid it was about to get to the point where I am in the aisle on my hands and knees, with Diane standing behind me making the milking motion, and then grabbing the broom from the guy nearbye who was sweeping, and making the "churning" motion, but I got the message across by picking up my bread, and pretending to spread something on it with my knife.
'OH! You want Budder!"
"Si".
Ok, dinner actually was very good, believe it or not, I recommend the place.
I just wish my brain hadn't thought that the round type things that looked like tater tots hadn't also come up with the word, hush puppies.
It took me quite a while to get the "puppy" part out of my mind.
I believe they are really called "falefels" Or something really close.
And boy, are they good!
Tater tots with a kick!
And for once, I wasn't totally stuffed yet, and boy, am I glad.
I went back up to the desert table, totally on my own, and grabbed this here thing called a "Zebra Dome".
(wow, your old uncle nebo almost just made a very serious, accidental typo, that of course no one would believe. Probably wouldn't have gone through anyway.)
I hate using the phrase, "to die for" but the Zebra Domes come awful darn close.
Really, we liked it here a lot, it just blew away last nights' dinner at Shutters.
For a much more accurate dinner review at Boma's, please read Tiggerbell's Flower Power trip report, it's her last one, and includes many, many pictures.
Close ups. Of Zebra domes. Even from the inside, out.
That's it tonight, coming up, Epcot, and another classy restaurant review.
Abends, steve