Friday, October 12, 2007

REAL Indian Food

So, the new girl at our table is something. She's new in the 'new to job' sense. Plus, young.

We're all chatting about food, restaurants, diets, etc. Indian food comes up and she says 'How come there's no REAL Indian food?'. Blank stares. 'You know. American IndIans?'

Other than the word 'real,' we're not too ludicrous yet, right?

'I don't know if the food would be all that popular,' I say.

Look of shock. 'What?!?!' She asks.

'Have you had it?'

'Uh, hello? We all have. Every Thanksgiving...'. she reponds.

More blank stares. Only this time they were leaning toward shocked stares. Plus, there are those of us who are struggling not to laugh.

My friend, Tony, decides to play along. 'Dude (he's 25), if I could get stuffing any time of the year, sign me up!'.

'See?' she says.

She's really cute, so no guy at the table wants to mock her too much, but it's too much for John. 'What would the waitresses wear?'

'You know,' she responds, 'like squaw outfits.'

She's ABSOLUTELY serious, by the way.

'Everyone loves turkey and cornbread. Where do you think that all comes from? They saved our asses! That's where!'

Paul. 'Maybe the kid's menu could fold into a Pilgrim hat.'

Outward laughter now.

'Well,' she states, 'it's better than all those casinos!'. Pause. 'And, everyone eats, not everyone gambles.'

Everyone sort of nods.

'They could at least serve it IN the casinos,' she adds.

She's like a twenty-three year old, five foot two, blond, female Kramer. It was the 'toss your own pizza restaurant' come to life, right in front of us.

'So our Thanksgiving foods are their native foods?' I ask.

'Not EXACTLY. We brought food and they brought food.'

'I'm thankful to whoever brought those little marshmallows,' I say.

Tony. 'AND the stuffing!'

Michele, the only other woman there, asks 'was it buffet style or did they just pass the dishes around?'

The new girl shrugs. One of the many details left out of the history books, I guess. So no one knows. But, it's something to ponder.

Blogged via Blackberry, where backspacing is more trouble than it's worth. Please forgive any typos.


  1. Your marshmallow line was the best of the bunch.

    Poor girl.

  2. 23, 5 foot 2, blonde - I could forgive her. But she'd have to stop talking.

  3. LMAO!
    Any wonder why I hate being 5'3" and blonde?! Many assume that I am as stupid as she ... until I put them in their places!


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