GUEST POST--SCOTIA STOP CHICKEN DINNER

This episode's guest post comes from Javier Wilhelm, local bon vivant.

Today I woke up and I knew that I wanted my lunch from a party store. I’ve been eating a lot of prepared food from party stores lately, with great success. Typical fare from these places is usually a couple varieties of pizza by the slice, fried chicken, sausages, hot sausages, ribs, and other food. Also potatoes.

A friend of mine tipped me off to the Scotia Stop recently, as they said it was a great little party store. I need a place to buy beer and cigarettes regularly and considering there have been no other local recommendations, I went to the Scotia Stop.

I drove there by car, and when I got there, I went in. I said “Hey!” to the cashier before he even had a chance to say hello to me. I told him, “I am here to get lunch,” and he confidently replied “Oh, we’ve got plenty of that.”

I went over to the “hot food counter” and looked at the food. The problem was that I couldn’t see the food! The glass was completely fogged up by the steaming hot food and various side dishes. The food bin attendant quickly wiped away the food fog, and I could finally see the food. Honestly, I wasn’t that excited, because I knew what to expect.

And I saw what I expected. There was fried chicken, fried chicken wings, and ribs. Then I noticed (what I believe sets Scotia Stop apart from the other party store I went to) is sides. And a combo meal. You can get macaroni mixed with cheese, as well as a cobbler portion of dessert food.

I said I wanted the Chicken Dinner Combo, for $5.99 please. I told him I wanted the macaroni side, instead of the dessert side, and he put it in the styrofoam carry-out tray.

They had three varieties of hot sauce; the man recommended the garlic hot sauce to me because “it is hotter.” I was disappointed to find that they didn’t have any solo cups for
the hot sauce, and that if they did, it would cost me a whole dollar. I decided to fill up my styrofoam carry out container with hot sauce, because everything is just going to get hot sauce on it anyway.

I also bought a 24oz. bottle of Beck’s Beer because that goes good with chicken.

I made it home in a matter of minutes. And upon my arrival, the chicken was at ambient temperature. Which is fine with me; I don’t need hot chicken, really. I was happy to see a large portion of the macaroni along side one half of a large potato; broasted. And also a very light biscuit. The biscuit, however, did not come with butter, so I dipped it in the macaroni and then into the hot sauce so it would have some liquid stuff on it.

The chicken breast was standard, but tasted good. I have always had a hard time getting breast meat off of a fried chicken breast. But that is my fault. Not their fault.

What I was most pleased with was the chicken wings. They are the kind of wings that are not separated into drumettes, wings, and chicken tips, but the kind that they leave all-together, in one piece. That is my favorite kind of chicken wing.

In conclusion, I am very full. I don’t feel sick at all, and that was a huge fucking potato. The men that work there are very pleasant, and I would go back for the wings.

TOWN TAVERN AGAIN--GUEST POST

Today's post is from my mother, Bonita Sigmundfreud. Please enjoy her delightful recounting of a grim experience.

Our family probably will stop having birthday dinners in restaurants for the rest of the year at least. So far, our luck has been bad. For my birthday last month, we had dinner at Hong Hua and were terribly disappointed; it certainly is not the splendid restaurant it was a few years ago (see my daughter’s review). Last night, for my husband’s annual 29^th birthday, we tried Town Tavern in Royal Oak.

The restaurant is attractive. There are a few patio tables, and, thanks to doors that run the width of the place and are left open in good weather, the tables in front present an illusion of being outside, too. The interior is clean and sleek, the only drawback being the inevitable television set over the bar. (Can we not lose the tv, folks? Please? It is SO ugly.)

We sat at one of the front tables and enjoyed the breeze while we waited for our server, who was wonderful: professional, thoughtful, and prompt with service. Drinks were lovely, wine was lovely. Our waiter brought a basket of hot bread slices dusted with a little parmesan. Delicious. And the chopped salad my daughter and I shared was very nice.

The whole trouble was the entrees. Drill Press’s (daughter’s) buttermilk fried chicken looked terrific, but she said that the breast meat tasted as though it had been thawed, frozen, and then thawed again. I didn’t try it, but it looked dry. She ate very little of it, and believe me she can pack it away.

The commander’s (husband’s) New York strip was medium, which would have been okay, except that he had ordered it medium rare. And it cost twenty-five bucks for eight ounces. The commander sort of picked at it and left it alone. Luckily the asparagus was all right—a little woody, but all right—and he’d had some bread.

My turkey enchiladas were lousy. I think that they must have taken some diced turkey breast from the refrigerator, rolled the meat up into flour tacos which were placed in a small casserole, spotted with a little tasteless salsa and unidentifiable cheese, and zapped in the microwave. Honestly, there was no flavor to the thing, and it was dry. Really dry.

Our waiter apologized, took the enchiladas off the bill, and asked that we come back and sit at one of his tables again so that he can try to make up for the experience. He was a doll. What is so distressing is that we ordered very simple dinners, and the restaurant couldn’t manage them. I will give the place credit for not serving entrees large enough for three normal people, a common problem today.

There is far much too emphasis on style over food in many of Royal Oak’s restaurants and a tiresome tendency to cater to unattractive singles (or would-be singles) crowds. These people are there only to impress each other and arrange sexual liaisons. They do not deserve to be catered to. Food comes first if the place is called a restaurant. If I have to stay in my own kitchen to get good food, something is wrong. 

~Bonita Sigmundfreud