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Eating in America…

Eating in America…

I’ve been in Ohio for ten days now, give or take, and aside from the aforementioned so-called Asian doughnuts, I have been introduced to such culinary delights as:

country fried steak for breakfast. This would be a pork steak covered in breadcrumbs, and then deep-fried – for breakfast. Even the Scottish with their deep-fried Mars bars wouldn’t cover it in breadcrumbs first. In the interests of research, I had to try this as part of a three-plate breakfast buffet.

Of course, if only I hadn’t then had to go on a Easter egg hunt looking for candy-filled Easter eggs for kids (with a side-trip to Arbys for a roast beef sandwich and a malted milkshake), and then onto a sumptuous evening dinner with some wonderful potato concoction that turned out to be twice-baked potato or something…

– In the UK, it’s called a Welsh rarebit and often the butt of national jokes about Welsh cuisine. But in Ohio, melted cheese sandwiches are revered at Melts, a rather cool bar’n’grill where the menu comes on the back of old vinyl covers. Shame that a melted cheese sandwich apparently takes an hour from ordering to arrival.

– After that came a dessert course of hot fudge ice cream at Malleys. The Americans, they like their ice cream. Even at 1pm on a wet Wednesday afternoon.

However, there are side-effects that come from eating out in America.

For a start, everything’s growing more. My hair, my nails, my moustache … they’ve all come on in leaps and bounds over the last ten days. It’s lucky I have a shaver otherwise UK immigration won’t be able to recognise me from my passport photo.

Another one is that everything comes … out … far more quickly than expected. And in big consistent chunks, in case you were wondering. However, while in London being caught short merely means running for the nearest pub/restaurant/Starbucks and hoping that their toilets are clean, being caught short in Ohio results in a bit more of an adventure.

To whit, a dash into a “gas” station to visit the toilet means a notice on the restroom door stating that you have to ask for the key. But this is an emergency, and besides, the door opens, so I hop in, lock the door and settle down to business. Two minutes later, someone who seems to have the key unlocks the door and starts to saunter in, whereupon I make my presence felt. Fortunately, the intruder beats a hasty exit.

They say the walk of shame is done when leaving a clandestine lover at 3am after a random club rendezvous. While I have never walked that walk of shame, I have walked the one that results from leaving a gas station with the cash registrar’s beady little eyes on me, and all the customers knowing that I walked into a restroom, polluted it, and left without – shock, horror! – buying anything. But on the other hand, having just vacated a full stomach, adding a stack of chewing gum to the contents of my stomach is not a good idea.

1 Comment

  • megan

    What, AW, and you didn’t pick up any Slim Jims for the car ride home?
    It seems you truly did miss out on the culinary delights of gas stations, well…there is always next time.

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