After a day of piddling around the house, avoiding the heat, and an uneventful trip to the Regional Justice Center to pay a speeding ticket, I picked up Tyson at the Tropicana poker room and we headed to dinner. His official excuse was that he'd left the house on the motorcycle at 8am, and now it was too hot to come home. But by 6:30pm, he was starting to get antsy.We decided to head to a friend-of-a-friend's restaurant,Boo Boo's over on the West side of town. It's one of those places that always seems to far out of the way, but as soon as Chris brings out our food, we wonder why we don't make the drive more often.
See, Chris is one of those restaurant people that actually likes his job. He loves it, in fact, and
you can tell. He's not one of those people that shows up and mechanically assembles plates of plain-tasting and average-looking food because that's his formula for making money. He gets to the restaurant at, like, 6am and starts making six or eight kinds of salad dressing from scratch and then goes wherever restaurant people go at all hours of the night to get their food--fresh organic spring mix, buffalo mozzarella so soft it almost crumbles, half-baked French baguettes and croissants--you get the idea.
Anyhow, Chris made us a salad and the day's special: some kind of fish with this lemon-caper sauce that was unbelievable, a crab cake with dijon mustard sauce, and a bowl of fresh fruit. Then, because it'd be a crime to drive all the way over to Durango without eating dessert, we got a chocolate fondue. We were almost too full to walk back to the car afterwards, but it was worth it to deal such a crushing blow to the forces of mediocrity in foodservice.
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