On our drive home from Southern California last weekend, we stopped for dinner at a well-known ranch house in the middle of the Central Valley. It is not one of my favorite places to stop, being situated right next to a cattle farm extending over hundreds of acres. But … I was outvoted, and anyhow, the alternative eateries in the immediate vicinity were of the fast food genre, so there we were.
Although they have a large dining room, furnished in the western style (pitchforks and wagon wheels on the higher walls, framed fruit crate labels in back of the booths), we had to wait about twenty minutes to be seated.
Waiting is for me a good opportunity to do some people-watching. I'd say that most of the diners coming and going were tourists like ourselves, and it is probably fair to say (and I hope not to sound unkind though it will probably seem so) that more than half of the diners who walked past me were overweight. Places like this seem to attract heavier folks, in my experience. The portions here are large, for large appetites.
My initial impression was confirmed when eventually we were led to our booth by our hostess. Great platters of red meat, mounds of mashed or fried potatoes, tall glasses of beer. Ice cream and milk shakes. Calories upon countless calories of animal fat and starch. The clatter of silverware on sturdy china. All the sights and sounds of a good feeding place.
It was almost enough to make me lose my appetite. Almost, but not quite.
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This week has been a busy one. We did the cooking for our older granddaughter's birthday dinner yesterday. (Happy birthday, sweetheart.) Between my wife and me, we produced three favorite dishes, all of which turned out very well and were enjoyed by all present. Afterwards there was a store-bought chocolate-mint icecream cake.
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