Manners and Shit

I went to dinner with customers tonight, and it was delicious.

We mentioned wanting Mexican, as we are in Houston, and come on, I'm going for Italian here?  No.


We ended up at a very fancy place;  a "Coastal Mexican experience" - the kind of place that doesn't do queso dip or frozen margaritas.

But I'm a foodie, as we all know - so I managed. Plus, seafood? Hells, yeah!

We got three dozen oysters - two dozen oven roasted (meh) and a dozen raw.  Yum.

I only recently learned to love raw oysters, but they are delicious.

For dinner, I ordered a shrimp cocktail appetizer - one of the shrimp arrived with his head still on.  And that's fine, really.    They were, as you can imagine, delicious.

I ended up entertaining my dinner mates with shrimp head finger puppetry.

Which is where my diatribe on manners begins.

Is making finger puppets with shrimp heads bad form?  Probably, but here's what's worse.

Complaining about the restaurant *AT THE RESTAURANT*.

I don't care how weird the menu is.  Find some thing on it that you can manage, order that and hit a drive thru on the way home.  But don't be rude to the hosts or the waitstaff.

There will be restaurants that don't have chicken fingers, learn to deal.

Here's one sure way to deal:

I hear you saying, "My word, Allison...what is this?"  It's El Coco.  A chocolate shell, dusted with cocoa.

I now hear you asking... what happens when you hit it with the adorable dessert hammer?

Well, amigos - you reveal the coconutty whipped foam that lies within.

Did I pretty much eat the whole thing by myself?  Yep.

Because it would've been rude not to.

For real though - it was fucking amazing.

If I can get a copy of me with my headshrimp, I'll pass it along.