Local Color: Bob's Big Boy

At one time in my life I ate at some pretty good restaurants all around San Francisco. Then the kid came around and I was forced to discover Boston Market. Now it just seems like too much trouble to go to a nice place to chow down when there are places that will provide crayons, paper and overly large portions for a fraction of the cost of what a "real" restaurant charges.

Bob's Big Boy may or may not be one of those places. It was not my idea to go. On the drive back from the TV show taping (video to come later) the husband said, "Hey! Let's go to Bob's Big Boy!" I, of course said, "Fuck, no. How about King Taco?"

...King Taco is one of my great forbidden foods. It was what I always wanted to eat when I was a fat teenager but never could because the closest one was deep in gang territory and the other in Lincoln Park--even I wasn't bingey enough to make the trek over there. Oh, I can taste it now! This is the only place where I'll eat anything beef. My dad nailed it when he said they put some sort of vinegar sauce in their burrito fillings that is just like crack to me. They make a red salsa that can double as tasty battery acid. I'd drink it by the pint if I wasn't such a light weight about preserving my stomach lining.

But I'm letting my food fantasies get the better of me...

The husband, who was driving said, "Fuck, no. Let's go to Bob's Big Boy so I can reminisce about my teenage dry humping, oregano smoking days."

Really, what choice did I have?

So we pulled off the freeway and the husband navigated by memory and gonads to Bob's. He got all hot and bothered when he saw there was car hop service available but I said, "Fuck, no. I want to sit at a table, not eat off my lap. If I wanted to do that we could have dinner at home in front of the giant TV." So in we went, put our names down to wait.


It was pretty busy, but we were seated within 15 minutes or so which gave me enough time to speculate about the lives of the other people waiting along with us. Let me just say right now, there are a lot of unhappy people in Toluca Lake.


I was prepared to be less than dazzled by the menu choices and considered ordering cottage cheese and canned peaches just to prove my disdain for the husband's rapidly disintegrating palate and annoying habit of romanticizing his youth. But when I saw my glass of water it was like a warm light of love and understanding was blazing in my belly.

I have a thing for ice and I love no ice better than the type that was currently floating in th glass in front of me. Technically, I believe it is called "flaker" ice and it's the type you might get at a hospital or nursing home where they don't want to bog a person down with huge chunks of icy goodness. I have such a boner for this type of ice, I squealed in delight and startled the husband who hasn't heard that noise in a long time. Flaker ice is almost like little crunchy balls of frozen water and if you packed enough of them in a cup, you'd have something close to a slushie with the addition of your choice of beverage.

In a much better mood, I ordered the turkey dinner and ate almost the entire thing--except the vegetables--what they did to that broccoli is criminal. There was so much tasty sodium in the stuffing, I could feel myself sucking in moisture through my pores for water retention that would plague me for days. The quarter can of cranberry jelly? Sheer artistry. I did, I admit, eschew mashed potatoes for rice, thinking I was being healthy, but there was so much butter on that rice, I'm surprised they just didn't roll of stick of it in the rice and slap it on the plate. Maybe they take requests?

After we were stuffed to the gills and slightly queasy, I suggested to the husband that we partake in some some oregano smoking and dry humping in the parking lot for old time's sake, but the kid said, "Fuck, no. I want a McFlurry, bitches."

Thank you, Bob, for saving my marriage!

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