Chicken Fried Steak Post Script

Exactly one hour after the lunch described above, my boyfriend was lying on the floor enjoying his current book, when suddenly, with a moan and a dash ... the poor dear spent the rest of the night in the bathroom. I think he got maybe one or two pages read in between trips, which was nice, but you could have set a train schedule to his "moments". I mean, what's the point of a two-for-one coupon if you end up spending $5.99 on Pepto Bismol and $2.50 on diet 7-Up? My fried egg sandwich only cost $6.99. He even watched me eat ice cream topped with Magic Shell ... and didn't partake. That's one sick puppy. I try to give restaurants the benefit of the doubt. I've been in the biz and read Anthony Bordain's "Kitchen Confidential", ... and truly believe that immune systems are made for eating out. But, dude ... at least in LA, they make restaurants post the grade the food inspector gives them. Restaurants are graded from A to F. If you're a restaurant worth a shit, you're an A. Some are B's ... and you only eat there cuz you're drunk and really need a burrito. Anything below that was just out of the question. It would be like eating sushi in Mazatlan and washing it down with a glass of ice cold water. I used to only eat at A's ... obviously ... until unbeknownst to me, one Christmas, when my Jewish (now ex) husband grabbed some Chinese take-out ("A Christmas Story" was accurate) after seeing a movie ... from a C! I already hate Chinese food, so a C rated Chinese restaurant was clearly reason enough for divorce. But here, in Sparks, Nevada, no postings are required. Although the soaking, see-through dishwasher shirt in the dining room should have been my first clue. Poor bf. He did recover, of course ... thinking it was maybe a little stomach flu ... "No sweetie ..." I told him, "Coupons kill ... let this be a lesson to you."