As usual.
So, we’re en route to South Bend, Indiana and decided to stop in Toledo, OH for dinner. We have historically had SHITTY experiences with finding places to eat here but I have had my eye on Pizza Cat for several years and decided this could be the time to try it.

But they’re take out only!!!

So then I found some place with veg options and based on the online menu it seemed like a dive bar. But in reality, it’s right across from whatever stadium they have (Henry knew their baseball team’s name from MASH lol) and this place was a gastropub with a line out the door. Plus, I’m wearing crappy “road trip” clothes and felt weird when I saw all the people in business casual.

Now I was starting to get irritable and demanded that we just keep driving to the hotel but Henry was frantically googling at a red light and said WHAT ABOUT DOC WATSONS?? They had a whole vegetarian section of their menu so I said fine.

First of all, it was a bar in a shopping plaza. I hate when restaurants are in shopping plazas. It’s a very personal belief on mine that restaurants should be standalone structures. You wouldn’t understand.

UGH.

We walked in right in front of a burly ginger dad who didn’t let the fact that he was toting a baby in a carrier deter him from spitting heartily on the ground.

Mmm.
Got inside and seated ourselves at the only empty booth on the closest side of the room. It was right next to the bar — fine — but also next to the LOUDEST booth in the place. These bitches were cackling like a coven behind me and actually making my skull feel like it was being crushed by their shrill decibels. I was pissed. Also irritable. Also hangry.

We had already gotten our drinks (just a water and iced tea) but when I tell you I really couldn’t endure another second of Laugh In behind me, I’m not exaggerating. It was flight time, bigly. I begged Henry to just throw down some cash so we could leave because I was afraid if the server came back, I’d cave and order food, trapping myself there.

We were really going to just go to the hotel but on the way back to wherever Henry pointed out some place called Nick’s Cafe and it looked like exactly what I wanted. A family owned greasy spoon, let’s go.


And it was the other end of the spectrum because the only other diners were an old guy at the counter and a table by the door, but they all left shortly after we sat down so then it was just us, the server, and the kitchen staff. And whatever local news they had the TV featuring anti-trans political propaganda. Ugh.


Anyway, Henry and I bought got an omelet (spinach for me, gross meats for him) and home fries. I get nervous ordering home fries because I’m very particular about how I like my potatoes sliced and diced.

Can you believe the size of these portions? IN THIS ECONOMY? Omg it was so good and the home fries were so nostalgic—-exactly my style and reminded me of the ones the Blue Flame used to make when it was still good there (and also still open lol ugh). But we could NOT eat even half. You know it’s big when even Henry taps out, is what I’m saying here. 

I did feel bad though because they close at 8PM and they probably would have closed up shop earlier if we hadn’t waltzed in. The server even went out to the vestibule area and turned off the OPEN neon while we were eating ugh lol. 

But yeah if you’re a trucker or someone generally with a big stomach then this is the place for you! However, now it’s the next morning and Henry and I are wildly uncomfortable. I look like I’m pregnant if we’re being honest with each other over hot orange tea and oriental snack mix at Aunt Ethel’s formica table in 1954. 

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