Thanksgiving dinners
Nov. 28th, 2002 11:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
plutherusI've had some interesting thanksgiving dinners in the past.. Usually, it's dinner at the parent's or one of the relatives house, with all the extended family gathered, Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, pie, a walk either to Catlin Gable (if it's at my parents' house), or around the loop (if it's at my grandmother's house, who really did live over a river and through the woods).
Other times, though, were not so Norman Rockwell. Like the time I was stuck in Stockton, with no friends, my phone and power had been cut off, I was hungry and nothing was open, but Domino's inexplicably was serving a turkey pizza that day. So I ordered one, and wrote a bad check for it. For some reason, no matter how many checks I bounced at that Domino's they never stopped taking them. I'm not sure I ever wrote them a good one. The pizza, by the way, was exactly what you'd expect a turkey pizza to be. But it was thanksgiving dinner.
Then there was the time in Mexico, I had been sick for three days, and barely able to keep anything down. We ended up in this small restaurant in Merida, where they directed us to the courtyard which was one of the most beautiful dining areas I'd ever seen. The food, service, atmosphere, even the weather were all perfect. The waiter, on learning that we were American, wished us a happy Thanksgiving. I'd forgotten that it was.
Oh yeah, then there was the one I spent trying to drive home with a car that didn't work. Broke down going over the Siskiyous. Waiting for hours in the cold for a tow truck. Dinner was a snickers bar and a can of coke.
This year was better. Planning nothing more than enjoying a quiet day to myself, and maybe going out walking around the city, possibly seeing a play if anything was happening, my friend Bonnie sent me an email saying she had a three-hour layover in San Francisco, and if I wasn't doing anything, did I want to come visit. So I did. We really didn't have time to get anywhere interesting (the airport's about an hour from my apartment. SFO is actually not in San Francisco, it's down south in Millbrae. About 30 minutes if you drive it. I don't.) So we had dinner at the airport, in the only restaurant you can get to without a boarding pass. I had the crab sandwich and clam chowder special, without the clam chowder, which they were out of. Bummed around the airport for a couple of hours after that, wondered about the mysterious 6th floor of the parking garage, then back home for both of us.
Sometimes I like Thanksgiving.
Other times, though, were not so Norman Rockwell. Like the time I was stuck in Stockton, with no friends, my phone and power had been cut off, I was hungry and nothing was open, but Domino's inexplicably was serving a turkey pizza that day. So I ordered one, and wrote a bad check for it. For some reason, no matter how many checks I bounced at that Domino's they never stopped taking them. I'm not sure I ever wrote them a good one. The pizza, by the way, was exactly what you'd expect a turkey pizza to be. But it was thanksgiving dinner.
Then there was the time in Mexico, I had been sick for three days, and barely able to keep anything down. We ended up in this small restaurant in Merida, where they directed us to the courtyard which was one of the most beautiful dining areas I'd ever seen. The food, service, atmosphere, even the weather were all perfect. The waiter, on learning that we were American, wished us a happy Thanksgiving. I'd forgotten that it was.
Oh yeah, then there was the one I spent trying to drive home with a car that didn't work. Broke down going over the Siskiyous. Waiting for hours in the cold for a tow truck. Dinner was a snickers bar and a can of coke.
This year was better. Planning nothing more than enjoying a quiet day to myself, and maybe going out walking around the city, possibly seeing a play if anything was happening, my friend Bonnie sent me an email saying she had a three-hour layover in San Francisco, and if I wasn't doing anything, did I want to come visit. So I did. We really didn't have time to get anywhere interesting (the airport's about an hour from my apartment. SFO is actually not in San Francisco, it's down south in Millbrae. About 30 minutes if you drive it. I don't.) So we had dinner at the airport, in the only restaurant you can get to without a boarding pass. I had the crab sandwich and clam chowder special, without the clam chowder, which they were out of. Bummed around the airport for a couple of hours after that, wondered about the mysterious 6th floor of the parking garage, then back home for both of us.
Sometimes I like Thanksgiving.
