In Search of Supper on a Monday Night

It is after 6 o’clock and we are starving. Murray has this list he compiled from reading Trip Advisor and under the Italian restaurants, a place called Mona Lisa is identified. We decide to go there.

Normally we read menus before we go into a restaurant, but we neglected to do this before we get sat at a table. I order a Ginger Ale to drink, while Murray has water. We are both looking at the menu and simultaneously realize that this is NOT an Italian restaurant and the items on the menu are of no interest to us and horrendously expensive. Murray graciously informs the server that we won’t be staying past me drinking (very quickly) my drink. We pay the three bucks and skeedaddle.



Still hungry. Now where? There is another Italian restaurant a few blocks away by driving that is in the same building as a sushi place and an Indonesian restaurant. We drive there, park, walk up to the door of the Italian place and it is closed. Same for the other two restaurants. It seems that many restaurants are closed on Mondays. How can you do that in a tourist spot?

Still hungry. Now where? Oh, let’s try Julian’s on the waterfront. We drive past there looking for a parking spot. Find one a block or so away. Walk there and read their menu. A burger is $15.00. Menu is not too thrilling. We decide to forgo this place.

Juvenile French Angelfish

Juvenile French Angelfish

Still hungry. Now where? ¬†We end up at Wattaburger. A fast food kinda place on the main street. The menu is mostly in Dutch. We are now famished so we decide quickly what to order, saunter up to the counter and Murray orders Chicken Fingers, Small Fries and a Fanta Orange for me and a Mushroom Burger and Chocolate Milkshake for him. The young local girl looks stunned. Murray repeats Chicken Fingers. The girl says do you want sauce? What kind do you have? She then proceeds to rattle off some words that neither one of us understand. Now it is our turn to look stunned. I think I hear something with the word chili in it so default to that one. We finally make it understood what we both want after much back and forth about whether they actually have chocolate milkshakes. She takes Murray’s credit card, runs it through but we have no idea how much it cost. When Murray asks her, she again looks stunned. I have a feeling she is not used to dealing with finicky Canadians!

Get our food (only mediocre) gobble it down. Not hungry any more.

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