For Father's Day, we took Erin's parents to a local favorite here in Central Indiana -- The Kopper Kettle. Now I never ate there as a kid, but my buddy Eric used to go there with his family all the time. (My family usually ended up at Gray Bros. Cafeteria instead, which is legendary in its own right...) Anyway, the Kopper Kettle is known for serving lots of great midwestern vegetables family style along with heart stopping volumes of fried chicken. It truly is great stuff, and our food this weekend was no exception. One of the other notable things about the Kettle is that the waitresses all wear these intriguing little French maid outfits. I never have made the connection between an 1860's tavern and French maids, but who's complaining? In any case, the previous time we ate there, we had a lovely young maiden serving us, who was probably in her early 20's. She was cute enough...until I noticed as she was refilling my iced tea that she had a pierced tongue and a tattoo. Now I could write a whole blog entry on what's wrong with these kids and their piercings and such, but I'll save it. I did think it was an odd adornment given her outfit though. This time, our server wasn't cut from quite the same mold. She was probably in her late 50's, and a little, er, bulkier. I'm not totally sure that the French maid look really carries to the older set, but as long as they're refilling my mashed potatoes every 10 minutes, who am I to talk?
Afterwords we headed for Indiana Downs, which has become another annual trip. None of us is a gambler, but it's worth the trip for the people watching. (You haven't really lived until you've seen a 35 year old man call his kid a swear and spill beer on the kid's head at the same time.) Erin managed to win money within about 10 minutes of arriving, so it was lovely evening. We sat outside, enjoyed a couple of hours of horse racing, and went home with more money than we left with. Can't beat it, right? Plus I'm all about seeing horses get whipped while being forced to run around a mile long track in the dirt. I should be allowed to go out and throw marbles under their hooves occasionally, given my history with horses...or at least make rude comments towards them.
Bret
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2 comments:
You know there's just something about eating fried chicken with your family and oogling at, er, appreciating, wait, asking for more ice tea from girls in french maid outfits, it doesn't happen often enough, but when it does, you take special note of a special meal, delivered by a special staff. I miss the kettle. Once we tried the restaraunt across the street ( I think the kettle didn't like my stares the time before ) and it made me wonder how we could drive all the way to Morristown and not eat at the kettle. Honestly, that trip was not the most fun trip, they didn't have french maid outfits across the street, and it was kind of set up like a Elks Lodge dining area, lots of flourescent lighting and card tables.
I honestly tried to find a way to work the word pubescent into that last comment but had a challenging time finding a sentence that didn't 1.embarass me 2.risk embarassing you 3.embarass my parents 4.risk erin's ire. so I thought I would just say the word in this seperate post so that nothing could be implied or held against me and yet I still got to say it, thereby making me chuckle.
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