Fine dining with Señor Piggy

Last night I had a hot date at a popular eating establishment. Unfortunately, the date was my son, and the establishment was a fast-food terriyaki restaurant (but boy, is it good!).

I say unfortunately because said eatery has TVs in every corner, which only broadcast sports. This is troubling for many reasons: 1. I'm not into sports, 2. TV renders Mark deaf, mute, and unable to pry his eyes away, and 3. It's not much fun to eat dinner with a deaf, mute kid who forgot you're even there. (I'm beginning to sympathize with all you football widows!)

In addition to zapping Mark's attention, the TVs also stole his good manners. First he chomped his dinner quite loudly, with his mouth open, until I reminded him we weren't in a cud-chewing contest. (Sometimes I think you have kids just so you can say things like that -- "Whaddaya think this is, a cud-chewing contest??")

Next, he proceeded to remove every gristly bit of steak he encountered. If that doesn't sound gross, then imagine what I watched firsthand -- Mark saying, "Ewwww, this piece is all FATTY!" then spitting a half-chewed piece of steak onto my tray. (Thanks, son!) This happened more than once, until I suggested some discretion might be more appropriate. Mark looked at me like I was winning the cud-chewing contest and turned back to the TV wordlessly.

Suddenly, a basketball game started and Mark lost interest in dinner altogether. He still had half a plate of rice and about 4.5 units of insulin coursing through his veins (that's about twice as much as a normal dinner without high-carb rice and sugary terriyaki sauce). I encouraged him to finish up, but he'd blocked me out. All he could hear or see was basketball.

So I had to pull out the big guns. I started telling him about a TV show I watched at Uncle Scott and Aunt Mari's house. (Fight fire with fire, right?) He still wasn't listening until I mentioned the words "giant" and "burrito."

I told him about this TV host that travels around eating giant food -- hamburgers as big as basketballs, and omelettes made with 12 eggs. I hooked him with a tale about a guest star on the show, who was a competitive eater. Then I reeled him in describing how the guy devoured a 5.5 POUND burrito in less than three minutes.

Mark was all ears now. When I finished the story, he smiled broadly, and I realized what I'd just done. Before I could let out a slow-motion scream ("Nooooooo!"), he was tucking into his rice with alarming speed, mimicking the competitive eater. He sucked down seven huge forkfuls in just under a minute.

He smiled at me, wiping rice from his chin. A terriyaki stripe was smeared across his cheek. He patted his belly, stifled a belch, and laid back into his seat.

"Oh man," he said, chewing the last of his cud -- er, rice. "I am sooooo full." He let out another belch to prove it. He closed his eyes a moment, resting, and I thought he might really fall asleep.

"Wow, you're a piece or work, you know that?" I told him. "What a wonderful dinner companion you are -- ignoring me, stuffing yourself, belching, then falling asleep at the table. You're quite the charmer."

He laughed. "I love you, Mommy!" he answered, and just as my heart melted a little, he fished out a piece of gristle from his mouth and shouted, "Yuck! That is SOOOO gross!"

It was definitely a dinner to remember. Just not in a good way.

A tough choice, because the cuisine is so similar

Last night, Mark was discussing where to go for his birthday dinner. He gets to pick any restaurant he wants, and I have to suffer through it. So I was pleasantly surprised to hear his choice.

"I want to go to the fritter place," he told me, and my stomach replied, "Yay!"

It's a quaint little restaurant with a country-esque interior and an outdoor patio with a koi pond. The cuteness also extends to the food presentation. Each dinner comes with a salad, and an accompanying basket of fresh veggies. You choose the ones you want in your salad, and the waitress whips it up at the table.

They also make amazing yeast rolls, and fried chicken with mashed potatoes to die for. However, their specialty, as Mark noted, are the fritters (he doesn't even know the restaurant's real name, he just calls it "the fritter place"). They're little round balls of dough fried up and dusted with powdered sugar. It's about as close to eating a donut for dinner as you can get, and the waitresses pass them out liberally.

So I was VERY happy with his choice. Until he scratched his chin and said, "Or maybe I'll pick Taco Bell instead. Ummmmm, TACO BELL!" He actually licked his lips at the thought.

Damn! I was so close!

I'm actually very proud of how far his culinary appreciation has grown in 3 1/2 years. When he first moved in, all he would eat was boxed mac n' cheese and hot dogs. Peanut butter and mayonnaise or peanut butter and butter sandwiches were frequent requests. (I could never bring myself to make either -- I literally gagged at the thought!)

But sloooowly, his tastes became more refined, until one day he told me, "Hmmm, we haven't had a crab feast in a long time." A few days later, he requested, and finished, an entire filet mignon, and I realized I must be careful what I wish for, because my wallet was feeling the pain of my little foodie's increasingly sophisticated palate.

I wasn't totally shocked by the Taco Bell request -- mostly because last year he chose KFC for his birthday dinner. I shared the wealth on that one, inviting my parents and family along. I treated them all, because heck, it was my only son's birthday dinner, and that's how I roll. (OK, and because none of them would go if I didn't promise to buy!) I got a fried chicken dinner all right, but in no way did it resemble the delicacy served at the fritter place.

And so we'll see which restaurant wins out. Come February 24th, I'll either be dining al fresco beside the koi pond, or inside, on a hard plastic bench, next to the drive-through window.