Have I mentioned that Kiefer is a bit crunchy? He misses the West Coast (Oregon), so Saturday morning we had breakfast at a restaurant that reminds him of home: Cafe Nola.
Since he came to IHOP with me, I decided to return the favor.
And I’m keeping score.
- I go camping with Kiefer. He owes me.
- Kiefer comes to IHOP with me. We’re even.
- I go to Cafe Nola with Kiefer. He owes me again.
I’ve been to Cafe Nola with Kiefer several times. The food is…weird. You probably don’t think it’s weird, but I’m a picky eater, so I think most food is weird.
Hummus? Tofu? Kiefer, where the hell have you taken me? I just want a ham and cheese omelet, breakfast potatoes, and a blueberry muffin.
There’s fun/crazy artwork on the walls, and this weird face was staring at me. It was freaking me out, man.
Our food always takes forever, and when it finally arrives, it’s cold, and of course, I don’t like it. Even when I add ketchup to my hash browns. I’m pretty sure the server (and the face on the wall) looked at me in disgust when I asked for ketchup.
On Saturday we pulled up to Cafe Nola at 8:02 AM. It was closed, but a guy was standing outside.
Kiefer: What time do you guys open?
Guy: I don’t have my key, so I’m waiting for the girls to get here. Come back in like half an hour.
Half an hour? As in 30 minutes? As in 8:32? But you were supposed to be open at 8.
Kiefer: We’ll come back.
Me: We’ll what? Seriously? But I’m hungry nooooow. We wouldn’t tolerate this lateness anywhere else, so why is it ok here?
He just tried to “because I said so” me. Like I was Boo or Radley.
Me: Fine. Stupid Cafe Nola and its stupid food. And its stupid lateness. Stupid lack of Pop-Tarts. You know what love is, Kiefer? Love is waiting to eat nasty food for breakfast when you could be having sex-on-a-plate pancakes.
After several not-so-fantastic Cafe Nola experiences, I’ve formed an opinion of Kiefer’s West Coast. I’ve never been there, but I now imagine the West Coast to be full of hippies. Granola and organic food eating, recycling, composting, chronically late hippies. Hippies who eat funny, cold food without ketchup. Hippies who I am now dubbing “Crunchies.”
I bet crunchies run wild over there. Actually, I bet crunchies lazily lounge about over there.
Here on the East Coast (at least in the DC metro area), we’re always in a hurry. Why are we always in a hurry? Because.
Unlike the Cafe Nola staff, I am always on time always early. Because I walk and drive aggressively assertively and with a purpose. If I’m outside, it’s because I have somewhere to be. And you. You are in my way.
East-Coast-West-Coast tangent over. Back to Saturday.
Thirty minutes and a Smores Pop-Tart later, we were back at Cafe Nola. And here’s where the story turns. I suspect the Pop-Tart probably had something to do with it. We were served this:
All of the food was tasty. Yummy, normal fruit! I also got breakfast potatoes (not pictured), and the server actually offered me ketchup! Glorious ketchup!
From now on, you can call me “Crunchy.” Wait…can crunchies have Pop-Tarts?