Taste Test

In usual Kitchen fashion, we found a reason to eat out, “let’s celebrate the signing of your contract!” I was the culprit. Besides, I needed a break from the kitchen. We headed to Slow Club where we were guaranteed a delicious dinner. We were immediately seated with high chair in tact.

“How old is he,” inquired the blonde hipster server with big hoop bakelite earrings.
“15 months on the ninth.” I was proud to not be at home like most parents enslaved to their child’s schedule.
“I have two myself,” the female server topped me one better.
“Cool!” I must admit she looked fantastic for two kids. I can only wish the same for myself.

The server brought over two ice waters and placed a paper cup with a straw for Hunter, “here you go,” like a natural mom, she knew what was up. Although she was unaware that Hunter was not privy to the straw, but he went for it anyway. He bit on the straw, but the concept to suck went straight out the window. Shane and I giggled, yet irritation brewed when we moved his cup to the end of the table. As his high chair’s safety belt was suspiciously broken, he wiggled his way out and began crying. No sooner than I could say, “crap on a shingle,” the bus boy placed a plate of bread and olive oil on the table. “Thank god,” I thought, “he loves bread!” I tore the bread into pieces and placed it in front of him. He took a handful and threw it against the wall. My sigh of relief quickly skipped to humiliation. Shane and I exchanged looks that translated to possibly leaving to an unpalatable destination like Chevys.

I personally wanted to bury my head in the sand. Horrid. I quickly questioned my humiliation. There were other things that would have my head in a tizzy. My Hawaiian upbringing simply told me to "relax"; thus stop trying to keep up appearances. That quickly put me in check.

Shane and I laughed it off and proceeded to finish our wonderful meal by switching off. "Oh my god, you've gotta try this," Shane fed me forkfuls of his blue corn grits and roasted pork loin as I fed Hunter his bottle. Subsequently, he would relieve me so I could finish my black bean soup which wasn't share worthy.

In the grand scheme of things, we adapted to the downshift. It was a gentle whirlwind of eating. We enjoyed our dinner at a fine, but slow pace. We embraced the fact that this would be our last dining experience as a family. Before leaving our table, I made sure we picked up the garbage dump that Hunter created amiss the floor. It would be a few years before we skim the fine dining rim again. Although we’ll make the best of it, here’s to more romantic dinners with my husband. Perhaps this is a prelude to date night!

This is Shellie ruling, “not all good things come to an end, it just takes time to refine” back to you Bob at the studio!