Tiny Mint Flavored Knives & The Sodium Chef

We recently ate at a restaurant (non-Borger, Texas) where the primary ingredient in the BBQ meat appeared to be salt instead of pork and the side dish could more aptly be called Mustard Salad with a slight potato flavor. The fouth time I tried to take a bite of the MUSTARD/potato "something", my left hand actually slapped my right hand as punishment.

Typo: "fouth" should have been "fourth" but that is what the word sounds like after my mouth has had too muth (much) salt.

I feel that I can not give a proper review of the beans as they were the third item that I attempted to eat after destroying my taste buds with S&M (Salt & Mustard). My wife said, "At least the bread tastes ok" to which I responded, "But honey, that's the only thing they actually didn't cook, they just took it out of the package (thankfully)". The generous mountain of onion rings were actually quite good for their style of batter, but it just happens to be a style I don't care for, so they were the only positive thing about the meal, other than the laughter. We were in agreement that was one pig that had died in vain. There was plenty of uneaten meat at the end of the meal, but I like Cooper way too much to let him eat any of it. He got freshly cooked (by Ernest) registered ground Angus mixed with dry dog food and topped with cheese, Kraft American, diced, so he ate much better than we did for the evening meal.

It took a few hours for my mouth to recover from the meal. My wife gave me a piece of gum on the drive home and when I put it in my mouth it felt like chewing tiny mint flavored steak knives.

As a spin on the words "Iron Chef" from teleBision, I created the term "Sodium Chef" for the evening's metal of abuse.

We graciously accepted the giant styrofoam to-go container that the waitress had brought us without asking for. But we soon found the nearest dumpster at a convenience store for Tamie to throw it into. BUT in her weakened condition of malnutrition, sodium overdose and laughter she missed getting it into the dumpster during the drive-by. The dumpster only had a tiny opening of five feet across at it narrower distance, so I had to drive back around the C-store to pick it off the ground, as I didn't want any raccoons to be hurt by the leftovers.

My tongue finally recuperated after a frozen strawberry fruit bar AND time. I haven't checked yet this morning to be sure Tamie is still alive. I know Cooper is. He is asking for breakfast.