Chicken Pot Pie… the kind you dream about.
Once upon a time, Ronnie picks me up in the parking lot of Demon Dogs. He asks, “What would you like for dinner tonight?” Forgetting that he’s kind of picky, I mention sushi. That gets crossed off pretty quickly. Um, how about The Duke of Perth for Fish n Chips? How about Mexican? I did not know that Ronnie already had dinner picked out and was just asking so I would think I had a vote.
“you know how you dream about chicken pot pie?” Ronnie asks.
“I don’t dream about chicken pot pie.”
“But if you did, I know of a place that sells the chicken pot pie you dream of.”
“I want fish n chips, not chicken pot pie.”
We went round and round, but wound up at Jacks & 404 Wine Bar, where I did not order Chicken Pot Pie. Ronnie did, since that is what we were there for and I tried it. Wow. That is great chicken pot pie.
Fast forward to tonight, well two weeks ago. Last week. I realize that my improv class is two blocks away from the Chicken Pot Pie and I start thinking about it, dreaming about it. It gets cold and I think more clearly and I write Ronnie, “Chicken Pot Pie?”
YES. We will dine on Chicken Pot Pie. I have never actually not opened a menu. Even at the Daily and Le Sabre, I at least acknowledge the menu. Not tonight. We looked at the menus on the table, looked at each other, “I know what I’m getting.” The waitress came back and we ordered two chicken pot pies.
They arrived and I dove into the middle with a spoon and Ronnie ate his from the edge in, in quarters. I’m sure that would be telling to a psychologist, but the end result was the same. Full bellies and dream conquered.
Until the next time.