Not the Hilton–and all the better for that

All kinds of interesting experiences this weekend in the eastern part of North Carolina, where there is a whole lot of nothing at all, most of it boggy.

The Crone has just booked into a motel where the patron asked:  ” You a smoker?” 

 “No ” replied the Crone

 “Well, we’d better get you a no-smoking room then” came the answer, although the reek, and the burn marks in the polyester comforter in the Crone’s $45 quarters, suggest he may have been over-promising. This is a tobacco state after all.

No sooner had the Crone unpacked her bags than a message puporting to be from the Hilton family appeared on her iphone. The Crone is in San Diego next weekend and staying in a Hilton property for a conference. Apparently it matters to Paris, Nicky, their gruesome mother Cathy, and the dad who no-one knows because he’s not on the telly, that the Crone has a great week between now and her check-in. Hmmm. On balance, she’d rather have the passive smoking experience.

To the Hitching Post for dinner where one of the specials was chicken and pastry with a sweet potato and collard greens.

“Is it a pot pie?” asked the Crone, immediately identifying herself as an outsider, and not just because of her accent.

“I’ll bring you a sample” said the waitress and produced a bowl filled with a grey/white gloop. Turns out that pastry in this part of the world is a flour and water mixture, rolled out and then cooked in broth along with the chicken–it tastes sort of like noodles and actually it was pretty yum, in a gluey kind of way. The Crone didn’t go for a whole plateful but instead opted for the shrimp and sausage pasta–great.

While enjoying her dinner, the Crone overheard the following exchange between the waitress and the table next door:

“A burger and fries please”

“We’re right out of fries, I’m sorry”

(suitable surprise, then)

“Do you have a baked potato?”

“Yes, we can get you a potato…”

It didn’t seem to occur to anyone that, if they had a potato, they could peel it, cut it up, and throw it in some fat… in Ireland, everyone who reads this will  be rolling their eyes.

About Liz Barron

US Peace Corps Volunteer in Armenia. Permanent address in Washington DC. Deep roots in Northern Ireland and persistent Belfast accent. Blogger,cook, mother, grandma, Scrabble-player and enthusiastic world traveler.
This entry was posted in Cooking with the Crone, Crone in America, The Traveling Crone and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Not the Hilton–and all the better for that

  1. merewoman says:

    What? I didn’t realise chips could be made from potatoes. I thought they came out of the freezer.

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