Thanksgiving Day...

Frank, the mexican boyfriend, wanted a traditional thanksgiving dinner, but we were not invited to any this year.
So, we went to the Vegas Diner out here in Brooklyn, around Dyker Heights.
It wasn't very busy, being almost 8 pm, but lively enough to stay. Frank ordered the Thanksgiving special turkey meal,
and I got the garden burger deluxe.
When Frank was deciding what to order among the side choices, whether french fries or baked potato, since I prefer baked,
the waiter interjected, "I bring both. It's Thanksgiving!" And we thought 'whoa' we're gonna get EXTRA food.

The waiter then reappeared with a basket of bread and bread sticks, and a plate of garbanzo beans, cole slaw and beet salad.
Then reappeared with a tray of raw carrots, celery, radishes and olives.

I requested coffee.

Frank and I began to nibble on everything, and the bread was actually more sweet, so it made a nice but poorly planned compliment to
my hot coffee. And we ate more, and talked, and the cold appetizer choice arrived, which was pickled herring, like, I mean a huge long piece of pickled
herring. With green pepper, tomato, more olives, and a slightly sweet cream sauce.

SO good.

Next was Frank's cream of turkey soup. I did not share it. Besides, there was a full meal surrounding me. We soon realized that the main dish
had yet to be served and we were 90% stuffed already. We indicated to the waiter than we were ready for the next course. We were patient, either listening to
the table full of Greeks next to us (in their own language), and the rotating dessert display, which was directly in frank's view. Honestly, his eyes spent more time
on those revolving desserts than yours truly. He knows where the sweetness is guaranteed.

Uh oh, here comes the water with our main dish. I get the garden burger deeeee-luxe, with a mountain of french fries and onion rings.
Frank is presented with his plate, with a server or brown gravy, a bowl of canned peach and cranberry sauce, and it the center, a ridiculously
huge pile of freshly sliced turkey meat, both light and dark. enclosing a mound of stuffing, and looking way too much like an impending heart attack.

Acting like responsible consumers that we are, and in respect to the delicate skills of the Chef of the Vegas Diner, we knew we had to eat our main dishes.
I worked on mine, soon accepting the sad fact that this version of a Garden Burger was improperly cooked as to make it a mushy mess between two layers
of bun, lettuce, tomato and one slice of melted American cheese.

But the fries, the onion rings, the baked potato, and beet salad, the garbonzos, and the cole slaw, rounded out the more reaffirming possibilities.

Frank was less ambitious, but instead of focusing on the meat mountain, he let his crudest instincts rule and ate all the french fries, with ketchup. He likes ketchup.
I don't. I would have preferred vinegar on my fries, and could have asked to table next to ours, you know, the one with the greek family, if I could borrow their bottle of
vinegar. I'm sure they would not have minded, but I felt shy and lazy, and I ate my fries plain...or, added a small amount of the baked potato's sour cream.

Needless to say, we had to stop. We really had to stop and tell the bus boy, who was looking for things to clean up, that we were done and could he wrap the
turkey to take home. This decision to end the eating process was not just sensible, but very strategic. We knew that included in Frank's special holiday dinner was also
dessert. And there is only one dessert we could consider asking for on this day, and faster than our intestines could anticipate, a slice of pumpkin pie is sitting between us,
politely or maybe just passively, awaiting to be devoured.

This made us immobile and we tried to think which one of us would have the heart attack first. It was over and we payed our bills, and waddled like penguins out to
my car.

And that was our Thanksgiving Day, Brooklyn NY, November 27, 2008.