.. Thank you.”
As the server walked away from his table, Jeff glanced back down at the tenders resting atop their french fry bed. He had no idea whether they were actually great — he hadn’t taken a single bite — but they looked great enough, the same Sysco breaded chicken whatevers available at any other pub. Fingers here, strips there. They were hard to screw up.
One place once had the nerve to call them “cutlettes”. Fkers. Continue reading