It's All in the Sauce

Okay, so a few days ago I headed to a diner for some late night nosh. Everyone knows the unwritten "Diner" rule. Don't order anything obscure. You know, like the Romanian steak with frizzled onions or the stuffed clams. Or anything that makes them go all the way to the deep freezer in the back. Save that stuff for a credible restaurant. Usually if you order breakfast or the common appetizers- you're good money. So I thought. I get the Buffalo Chicken poppers and a strawberry milkshake. The shake was cool- even if it tasted like Strawberry Quik with a scoop of ice cream blended in. The chicken, however was another story. I dunno. I think Buffalo, I think spicy. I think tangy. I think orange in hue at the very least. Nope. What I got was plain old chicken tenders. A nice golden brown with no zing to them at all. They had the nerve to bring it out with Bleu Cheese. As if my sensitive palate couldn't handle the overpowering blandness. I politely ask for more Buffalo sauce much to the waiter's chagrin. We both know damn well there wasn't any to begin with. He returns with a scary, radioactive looking liquid that resembled the color of Thousand Island dressing at the bottom and clear orange oil at the top. My fellow diner takes one look and asks, "Is it a chicken nugget or a what-the-f*ck it?"

Loud. Uncontrollable. Laughter. They probably think we're sauced. They may or may not be right.