We spent the morning puttering around the house talking about how we really should get out and do something as the weather was so nice.
"What time is it?" I finally asked Tom.
"About eleven, I think," he replied. "Oh, no wait, it's ten after one!"
My lunch-o-meter agreed.
So we decided to head to the beach.
I don't know what kind of animal a waygu is, but the burger was awesome. The fries, on the other hand, seemed like they'd passed their prime some time ago.
Tom ordered two sunny-side-up eggs with fried potatoes and toast. The eggs were good, as was the toast. The potatoes were cold and probably eligible for social security.
When our server came bay and asked if everything was tasting good Tom was upfront about the state of his potatoes, of which he'd only eaten a few. A few minutes later our server came by with a lovely plate of fruit for him to make up for the potatoes.
Hopefully The Kettle was just having a bad potato day.
From The Kettle we walked down to the pier,