Waffle House, Big Rick, Bill And Bob

Yesterday, Big Rick and his family celebrated his parent's Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary.

Happy Anniversary, Beth and Bill.

Given that Rick spent the day with Mom and Dad, he got dispensation today and played golf with me on Mother's day.

For the second week in a row, Rick and I got our butts whipped by old guys, more on that after Waffle House.

The Waffle House thing. There's a chain here in the Southeast. Waffle House. There's one at pretty much every exit on an Interstate. We ate breakfast at the one at I-85 and Clairmont Road. One of the great things about Waffle House is the short order cooks. They listen, on a weekend to four or five waitresses calling in orders. They line up the plates with bits of stuff on them to tell them what was ordered. If there are hashbrowns in the order, they put a shred or two of them on the plate. You can get them ";scattered' (spread out on the grill), 'smothered' (with onions), 'covered' (with cheese), 'chunked' (with diced ham), 'diced' (with diced tomatoes), 'peppered' (with jalapeno peppers), 'capped' (with mushrooms) and 'topped' (with chili)." Wikipedia of course is the source. Rick this morning suggested getting them, but "hold the potatoes."

An order including cheese on the hashbrowns, grits or meat, gets a piece of cheese on a certain part of the plate to tell the cook where the cheese will fit in to the meal as it is assembled. Another clue involves strategically placed jelly containers. I'm not sure what they signify. Waffle House also has apple butter, an offering that makes all of the grease magically disappear, though that is not a scientific opinion.

A minor player in this morning's WF experience was a waitress explaining grits. Just to our left at the counter there was a couple. It turned out they were from California. It also turned out that they had not watched "My Cousin Vinny," eaten in the South or ever seen even a single grit. The waitress brought their plates. The guy said "what's that?" You can fill in the rest. She had a syrupy sweet, not Atlanta, but South Georgia accent. They all smiled a lot at each other. They finished a bit before we did. He described the meal as interesting.

I'm going to skip the part about the new cook who was quickly in the weeds and the waitress, not the grit lady, who was not quite sure we were directly in front of her when she looked just over our heads.

The golf course is next. I'm not a good golfer. Neither is Rick. I actually have to quibble that statement. We are both good golfers in that we love to play. We abide by the lore, history and etiquette of the game. We fall short, for the most part, on the skill part.

Rick adds to the attraction of us as people to play with as he is loquacious. When we are paired with people, within a hole or two, Rick draws them into our circle. We've never gotten past three or four holes before it turns out we have a new temporary friend or two.

Last week we played with Bill. Bill had had a stroke awhile back. Had nothing to say for two holes. Turned out that was because of the stroke. He figured out about the third hole that we didn't much care how he talked. He proceeded to beat us.

Today we played with Bob. I'd like to say that it was a close match. My parents told me lying was not a good thing. Bob's retired. His Mom is in her mid-nineties. He didn't say much for the first couple of holes. He just scorred par. Rick and I did not shoot par on those holes.

We did have a few pars. We also had more than our share of sixes. Rick had an eight (Rick, get your own blog if you want to take shots at me).

Playing golf with your friends and new friends, however poorly you play the game, is a lot of fun.

Bonus: I have a really good sock tan going.