Airport Food

This may come as a stunning surprise to my readers, but sometimes travel is not all cream-puffs and sugar fairies. Lunch today was at the Airport. At a phenomenon called T.G.I Friday's. And since it is indeed Friday, I stopped for a bite to eat.

Pretty basic roadhouse fare. But then I spied one of my favourite sandwiches. So when Nigel the waiter came by I looked up from my free USA Today and said triumphantly "I'll have the pulled pork, please". I really do enjoy saying that. I think I like saying "pulled pork" more than I like eating it. This is why I will never leave Canada. I need to say "sheared beaver" at least once every winter when contemplating new coats.

I hadn't even turned the page in the paper when the food arrived. It was suspiciously way too fast. I am convinced it was someone else's lunch or a mistake that had been sitting around for a few minutes, in the hopes that someone needed pulled pork.

It was a little too vinegary for my liking, but edible. A girlfriend of mine in Winnipeg makes a great one in her slow cooker. Her husband calls her the pork pulling queen. And he's right.