Redneck taste.
For all the supposedly fine food they ate in their travels around the world, on their cruises in Platinum level, (Dud said, "Tommy and I took two cruises a year.") for all their dinners at the Ritz Carlton Chicago, they had no palate.
For all the supposedly fine food they ate in their travels around the world, on their cruises in Platinum level, (Dud said, "Tommy and I took two cruises a year.") for all their dinners at the Ritz Carlton Chicago, they had no palate.
For Dud and Tommy, the height of pleasure was the $11 luncheon buffet at the Hyatt. They loved everything about the Hyatt. They loved the lobby, the waterfall lounge, the smell of America. They thought it Merida's classiest hotel, which it was not. What it did have was an American chain name, strong air conditioning and a staff who tried to speak English.
"The table is set," Dud described so...thrilled, "and the fork is just so, and the water glasses and the placemats, and the napkins, and it is, so...civilized! You know...American."
I ate there with them once and the food was dreadful: lukewarm, dry, tasteless, gelatinous, uninspired but they kept oohing and going back for more. I could barely find a thing to put on my plate. I thought, oh well, and I just dropped it, like I dropped all the incongruous things that were starting to build up.
They would rarely eat in any other restaurant in Merida, i.e. a Mexican owned restaurant and when they did, they didn't like it. "I don't see why everyone thinks that place is so great," Dud would scorn.
They lived in Costco. Wouldn't even consider a Mexican supermarket, or Mexican goods, no matter if canned, packaged, shrink wrapped or frozen. They were sure they'd get sick. Tommy would come home with his stolen SUV laden with Costco frozen food and bagged, ready to eat salad. Everything in their cupboard was enormous -- the chip bags, the blue cheese dressing, jars of cocktail snacks, the peanut butter. The freezer was stocked with cheap steaks, chicken cordon bleu, Chinese dumplings. Dud could only store the yard-tall Kirkland vodka in a garbage pail. He would go over to the garbage pail many times a day and pull out the vodka for a cocktail. He had a glass of cranberry juice in his hand starting at 11a.m. every day.
Dud was the cook. He would set out Uncle Dum's breakfast and then lunch as if he were a 50's housewife. The salad in a salad bowl, the meat, the now mushy frozen veg and always a baked potato wrapped in foil. Tommy would be running around all day doing God knows what, selling stolen goods, finding credit card cloners...and when he came in, would eat two hardboiled eggs whilst standing at the kitchen counter and then run out again.
Since Dud couldn't cook and they didn't have any money to entertain, all their parties were "pot luck" --- "because it was ever so much more fun this way." It's why they always jumped at my offers to cook my delicious meals. They would invite people in for a pancake brunch (that's cheap) and spaghetti (cheap too). Occasionally Tommy would risk a stolen credit card on lunch at Hacienda Xcanatun. Both times I ate there with them, his credit card was rejected. "No problem. I've got another one," he would say. Of course he did.
"The table is set," Dud described so...thrilled, "and the fork is just so, and the water glasses and the placemats, and the napkins, and it is, so...civilized! You know...American."
I ate there with them once and the food was dreadful: lukewarm, dry, tasteless, gelatinous, uninspired but they kept oohing and going back for more. I could barely find a thing to put on my plate. I thought, oh well, and I just dropped it, like I dropped all the incongruous things that were starting to build up.
They would rarely eat in any other restaurant in Merida, i.e. a Mexican owned restaurant and when they did, they didn't like it. "I don't see why everyone thinks that place is so great," Dud would scorn.
They lived in Costco. Wouldn't even consider a Mexican supermarket, or Mexican goods, no matter if canned, packaged, shrink wrapped or frozen. They were sure they'd get sick. Tommy would come home with his stolen SUV laden with Costco frozen food and bagged, ready to eat salad. Everything in their cupboard was enormous -- the chip bags, the blue cheese dressing, jars of cocktail snacks, the peanut butter. The freezer was stocked with cheap steaks, chicken cordon bleu, Chinese dumplings. Dud could only store the yard-tall Kirkland vodka in a garbage pail. He would go over to the garbage pail many times a day and pull out the vodka for a cocktail. He had a glass of cranberry juice in his hand starting at 11a.m. every day.
Dud was the cook. He would set out Uncle Dum's breakfast and then lunch as if he were a 50's housewife. The salad in a salad bowl, the meat, the now mushy frozen veg and always a baked potato wrapped in foil. Tommy would be running around all day doing God knows what, selling stolen goods, finding credit card cloners...and when he came in, would eat two hardboiled eggs whilst standing at the kitchen counter and then run out again.
Since Dud couldn't cook and they didn't have any money to entertain, all their parties were "pot luck" --- "because it was ever so much more fun this way." It's why they always jumped at my offers to cook my delicious meals. They would invite people in for a pancake brunch (that's cheap) and spaghetti (cheap too). Occasionally Tommy would risk a stolen credit card on lunch at Hacienda Xcanatun. Both times I ate there with them, his credit card was rejected. "No problem. I've got another one," he would say. Of course he did.
