I’m stupidly hungover today. It’s fine. I feel like at some point I will know better, but for what it’s worth, last night was a fun, celebratory evening (Paige has a new job!), and I played Wii bowling AND tennis for the first time ever.
So one of the guilty pleasures I like to indulge in when I’m hungover is a breakfast at Village Inn. It’s like the ideal comfort food — a Garden Skillet (no cheese), and an entire pot of coffee to myself. I know the food isn’t the best, and I know I could be supporting a small business instead, but I just sort of love Village Inn.
Last week they filed chapter 11, which was a little concerning, and made me feel like I really needed a Garden Skillet today, in case they go away. Given their financial troubles, I was surprised to find the first Village Inn I went to closed for remodeling. It was totally surreal — the manager opened the door for me and asked if I was there for breakfast, which I was. He apologized, said they were closed, but offered to give me a little preview of their renovations. I think it opens next week, and it’s going to be a little surreal, this new design. A little retro, a little Disneyland, with an espresso bar. With wi-fi. Wi-fi at VI. They should totally pay me for that one. And not with a 50% of a second entree when you buy one coupon (I only ever buy one, hello!).
Luckily, there is another Village Inn across the street from this one, so I just went over there. I was briefly alarmed when I didn’t see the Garden Skillet listed among the other skillets on their new menu, but it is still on the menu in some kind of “healthier” category. I think the health of the dish is debatable, but if I really wanted to be healthy, I probably wouldn’t opt for Village Inn in the first place. The Garden Skillet is basically eggs on top of bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, broccoli, and potatoes. The potatoes resemble French fries in texture and flavor, which is probably why I love this dish so much. Healthy, though? Not really.
Village Inn was founded in Denver, incidentally.
Everyone around me at breakfast seemed sort of stupid. I shouldn’t judge people like I do. But on my right was a three-generation trio of men — a three year old, his dad, and his grandfather. The kid was being a cute kid, a little obnoxious, but certainly not very. But the dad kept threatening him by saying, “If you keep being grumpy, I’m not going to take you to go see the tractors!” and “Go ahead and be grumpy, but keep it to yourself. No one wants to hear about it,” etc., even though the kid was relatively well behaved, and really didn’t seem grumpy to me at all. The grandfather said he’d saved three lives this week — there were three people he would have liked to shoot, but he saved their lives by not following his whim. Also, when the kid responded to one of his dad’s threats by sitting still, the grandfather chuckled and said, quite sentimentally, that the kid was “cheaper than a Colfax whore.”
And then they started talking to me. I may have looked lonely or something, but really I was just hungover and dehydrated, though I didn’t tell them that. The dad apologized for his kid’s awful behavior (which wasn’t awful). Finally they left.
Oh, also, the dad was some kind of medical professional, and was divulging some pretty detailed stuff about a local celebrity who died recently. He should have apologized for himself.
Overhearing other people’s conversations is one of my absolute favorite things to do, and I’m not sure why. It’s better when you’re with someone, though, so that you can widen your eyes at each other and laugh, assuming that your own conversation, overheard by someone else, would never sound like that. Of course it probably does.
In other news: Ryan Adams has a blog, and a song about his blog. I bought baby artichokes today and am going to cook them sometime tomorrow. The directions on the back start by saying “Rinse babies,” as though you should lovingly handle each tiny vegetable…