One day in the middle of the week, my wife and I decided to treat ourselves to breakfast out. There’s a spot we favor these days that has been consistently good in terms of delicious cuisine appeal. Their bacon is the best. And no, it’s not the International House of Pancakes.
When we entered the restaurant, we wondered if we’d accidentally pulled in to a Chuck E. Cheese. There were kids at every table, and the place sounded like a schoolyard. We hadn’t realized it was school vacation. Not wishing to appear too curmudgeonly, we didn’t turn right back around, but instead sat at the table where the hostess set us up.
You know when you’re trying to be heard on your cell phone but you’re outside on a busy street? You speak in abnormally loud tones, so the person on the other end can hear you over the din. The funny thing about that is that they can hear you fine, but you have trouble hearing them. I call that phenomenon using our phone voice. It’s the opposite of when someone says, use your indoor voice.
We had to use our phone voices as we ate.
The food was good as usual, but in the middle of our repast we noticed a little girl at the next table being served a Mickey Mouse pancake — and it looked really good. So good, in fact, that we resolved to come back soon and order the sweet, syrupy treat.
Fast-forward a week or so, and we found ourselves back at the restaurant. The menu had four versions of the pancake item: tall stack, short stack, single pancake, and of course, the Mickey Mouse pancake for kids.
Doing some quick math, I figured that we were in the adult demographic, and I ordered the short stack. When it arrived, there were two pancakes piled on top of each other, and they were slathered with butter. They didn’t look much like the flat, Mickey Mouse version. They had enough heft and fluffiness to put my pillow to shame.
Drowning them in syrup, I took my first bite. They were good; I might even say very good. But they didn’t measure up to what I imagined the little girl’s meal tasted like. And that’s when it hit me:
I’m an adult. The days of going gaga over sweet treats like pancakes are over.
When one ages, one’s taste becomes a bit more sophisticated. Instead of sweets, you crave adult food like filet mignon, Chilean sea bass, and Statler chicken. It’s not a bad thing. That’s why adult menus and kids’ menus are separate. So vive la difference.
Now, since I’m home alone, I’m off to heat up a can of SpaghettiOs.
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