Sunday, June 14, 2009

1-2-3.

Taking third world parents to a trendy LA restaurant is never a good idea. 

Case in point, graduation dinner: After they realized that the lights really were supposed to be that dim, the music was intentionally that loud and the waiter was actually paid extra to not care about us they proceeded to hold their cell phones up to their menus, yell across the table in obscure languages and split entrees made for half a normal person's appetite. 

My father also played his hand at cool by ordering the "Hollywood Dolce Salad" which, coincidentally, doesn't even have lettuce. When it arrived he looked at the candied walnuts, pear slices, and goat cheese in abject horror and proceeded to eat anything that would be in a typical green side salad (dressing on the side, of course.) 

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