My husband thinks that wings and ribs are “too much work,” and turns his nose up at them. He’s kind of a jerk about it. He’ll even admit that my bbq’d ribs are delicious, but nope. Too. Much. Work. Ok then; more for me and Echo Jr. But, man, he’s missing out.

It was but a jest, Froggy friend 😀 You’re not going to find moose on the average restaurant menu here. You’re more likely to find bison burgers, which are tricky to cook well, but lovely when you have a kitchen that knows what they’re doing

And moose burgers

Well. That was just perfect.

Yeah. People think we’re so nice. Truth is, we’re nice to each other.

No argument there. In Newfoundland, they put stuffing and gravy on fries, and while it sounds like a carb nightmare, it’s fucking delicious.

Maple dip. But close. So close.

If only that were true...

Twenty per cent is standard for good service you have no complaints about, with a friendly, knowledgeable server. Percentage goes down as you think is appropriate for service that’s just ok. Anything less than 10 means you’re my dad and nobody will go out to eat with you.

Fair enough. I apologize.

Oh, I know. And it’s shameful. I was trying to say (clearly very poorly) that meal prices wouldn’t go up to the point that people would freak out and demand the old (unfair) system back.

No. He’s a duck.

Shoe guy gets paid more than three dollars an hour.

No. I’m Canadian and we pay our restaurant staff a living wage and still tip. Twenty per cent is the norm. We have restaurants up the wazoo, and no, they don’t all exclusively serve poutine.

Your tip must have been absolute shite for her to throw the money back at you.

I was in hospital last year after my kidneys failed due to chemo treatment (suuuuuuuper fun); I almost instantly got delirious and started hallucinating things. I asked my husband, quite reasonably, why they’d let a big ol’ dog in the hospital. He tried to tell me it wasn’t there. That? Pissed me off. “Oh, I can assure…

My best to your dad, and you, Ms. Pond.

Boo fucking hoo

I have conflicting and frustrating feelings about Men’s Derby.

Um, she’s too busy saving the world with pop* to care about boys. Chuh.