Bugs Bunny Reigns Supreme

It was cold that day, but I didn’t feel cold. I felt alive. My cheeks were flushed with excitement and my smile was so wide my face ached. Hell, if it weren’t for my heels, I would have broken into a dance. I had just left the best college interview I’d ever had, and I knew I nailed it.

I met up with my mother, father, and brother, and we decided to celebrate at the Firefly Diner, a diner that has been there for as long as I can remember. My mother and I used to go there for breakfast every weekend when I was a girl. I always ordered the Bugs Bunny,a heaping bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce, and my mother would order pancakes and eggs. Eventually, that was the only thing that we would eat when going to Firefly Diner, no matter the time or day.

However, on the day of my interview, when we crawled into the booth, we decided we wanted to try something new. I was going to have a burger, my brother was going to have mac and cheese, and my mom and dad were going to have seafood.

The air inside the diner was warm, and we were content. The waiter placed a small loaf of bread in front of us and we dug in. The knife sunk effortlessly into the loaf, the oats and seeds falling off and dusting the wooden board underneath. It was warm, and as the butter went on, the pale-yellow cream, with bits of cloudy rock salt, stood against the dark crumb of the bread. It was sweet on the taste buds, with a hint of salt peeking through.

The salad course came next. It was turning out to be one of the best meals we’d ever had at the diner.

My brother got his food first. In front of him sat an oval dish filled to the brim with cavatappi pasta, pale and shimmering, like a vampire in a tacky teen flick. He had a forkful and immediately pushed it to the side.

“Too cheesy,” He said through a mouthful of pasta.

A comment that I immediately dismissed- my first error. With him, food is always too spicy, too cheesy, or just too ugly to eat. I dug into his plate and planted a firm forkful in my mouth- a grave mistake on my behalf. There was more cheese than mac, and what mac was there was overcooked. The cheese oozed oil, leaving pools where our forkfuls had been. And yet, despite all the cheese, there was no trace of salt or seasoning of any kind. I shuddered at the mouthful and forced it down. Yikes. It couldn’t get any worse. Right?

My mom had ordered the crab cakes and some fried scallops for my brother- just in case he didn’t like the mac and cheese. Meanwhile, my dad ordered the fried sole. One by one the dishes were placed on the table, in all their fried and oily glory.

Once again, my brother pushed away his food, claiming that it was gross. Dismissing him yet again I sampled the food. The fried scallops were soggy and over cooked. When I bit it, it was so rubbery I was afraid I’d never stop chewing.

One by one, we tried each other’s food. The crab cakes were a lukewarm mixture of breadcrumbs and artificial crab. The only crunch came from the chunks of raw celery inside. From there it only got worse. I picked from my father’s plate, tasting his fried sole. The outside was crunchy, but the inside had a similar texture to fish mixed with mashed potatoes. It was as though the cook had placed the fish into a blender and pureed it before molding it back into a fish-esque shape and frying it.

While we're tasting the seafood, my burger came. The patty was dry and the lettuce on the burger was wilted. When I bit into it, the meat scraped against my tongue and was such a struggle to eat that I had to chase it with water. I’d rather take a shot of 20-dollar Jose Cuervo with no chaser than eat another one of those burgers- and yet we all agreed that it was the best out of what we had ordered that day.

We all tried each other’s food and it was so bad that we found it hilarious. The waiter returned many times to see if anything was wrong, because we were spitting our food into our napkins. The more we ate, or refused to eat, the funnier it was.

Soon we hatched a plan to bring the leftovers back home for my grandmother to try. We were so excited to see her facial expression. We asked for a to go container and packed up the scallops and fish, ready to have Grandma sample it. On the ride home, we crafted our lines:

“Grandma! We went to the diner and decided to try something new. It was really good. Mom had to ask the waiter to pack up some food before we finished it, just so that you could taste it.”

Or

“Grandma , you have to try the scallops. They are so good. I manage to fight off the masses in order to save you some!” Soon, we had a plan.

We walked into the house and clustered around my grandmother, praising the diner’s seafood. And she, the sweetest most devout christian I have met, popped the scallop into her mouth and said, “Oh shit. I can’t believe that you paid for this crap.”

She then proceeded to lecture and laugh with us. That was the worst, and yet best meal that I have ever had.

Next time, we’ll just stick to our usual: pancakes and eggs and The Bugs Bunny.