Week 10: The Frog Pond and the Angry Tadpole

Sunday morning you’ve come too soon. While I look forward to our weekly brunch adventure, I can’t help but think that tomorrow is Monday. Monday involves writing a week long RFP and hopping back on the treadmill after a weekend of approximately 15,000 calories. It’s a rough caloric estimate because if I actually count Friday Night’s dinner at Oishi, Saturday Morning’s Hot Dog Execution and Saturday Night’s Cuban Takeout the real numbers would discourage me from going to brunch.

My thoughts of becoming obese are interrupted by our need for coffee which has resulted in a pit stop at McDonalds. We are going to brunch at the Frog Pond which is almost an hour away and sometimes determination and willpower just has to come from a hot trashy cup. While waiting in line we are cut by three people. It boggles my mind. Even if these belligerent McDonalds patrons are “regulars” or hold some type of VIP Big Mac Fan Club Card, I want to know what makes them think they are entitled to cut me. I might not fit your profile, but I come here too you bitches.

Here I go again with my thoughts interrupted by something more interesting- an 8 year old holding up some change—“What can I get with 75 cents mam.”  The cashier responds “Nothing.”  Despite making an unfair assumption that it was probably the son of someone who just cut me, I pulled out my wallet to give him a few dollars. Just in time though, another cashier interrupted the conversation to say “Give that dang boy a cheese-burga.”  Looks like I’ll be savings these two dollars for Flamingo Bingo.

After a long car ride we arrived at the Frog Pond. Not exactly what I was expecting. The Frog Pond came highly recommended and I had wrongfully assumed that it would be a standalone, cool looking joint. It was in a strip mall surrounded by tourist traps and there were lines of people out the door. I’m hungry but I am also starting to look like Morticia. With my pale skin and black hair, a half hour of lying around in the sunny parking lot certainly won’t hurt.

There are several large parties ahead of us and I’m concentrating on one because the hostess is talking down to them. The man put himself on the waiting list for a party of 6 but there are clearly 7. As the hostess condescendingly asks him how many people he’s with, his 5 year old quickly counts and screams SEVEN! You should buy that child whatever she wants in there, she is undoubtedly the only one in your family with potential.

When we were finally seated I took a minute to look around. Frogs. Frogs everywhere. It looked like a big green hoarder’s house. The place was extremely fast and waiters and waitresses were running around table to table. With sweeping, coffee pouring, food flying out of the kitchen, ketchup drop offs, tables being set, rapid ordering, babies screaming, I began to wonder how I or anyone else for that matter was going to enjoy their meal. Not a relaxing place. At one point I had to hide my coffee on the opposite side of the table just so the coffee pouring man would stay away from me (yes, someone’s job is to pour coffee and coffee only).

Our waiter was an absolute ass and I say that as a fellow ass who has no patience for people. I may have been his icing on the cake following a very frustrating morning, but hey that’s not my problem. Serve and pretend to enjoy it. I asked him what the special was and his response was a very sarcastic “I love people like you.” There was an awkward silence as I waited for him to do his job and then he began reciting the specials. The California Quiche special sounded absolutely amazing but two can play at this game– I’m gonna disregard everything he just said and stick with my original choice. Hash platter with home fries, toast, fruit and two over-easy eggs.

Ryan ordered the roast beef omelette with home fries as well.  He started ordering a side of biscuits and gravy and our pleasant waiter attempted shutting him down. “Do you know what you just ordered sir?” Tempted to answer for him, I waited. “Your omelette is a 7 or 8 egg omelette.”  Thanks for the warning sweetheart, that was really thoughtful of you… but I’ve watched my boyfriend take down an entire bbq buffet and he’ll eat what he wants. Trust me he can handle your tiny biscuits.

As we waited for food I was parched but there was no way in hell I was asking our waiter for anything else, even water. I tried to pass the time by telling Ryan I have personal experience with frogs: I killed both of mine when I was a child. Well, I didn’t kill them. I left them unattended with the cat. I begin to wonder if Ryan sees that as bad maternal instincts. Ehh, just a few frogs. I resist adding in that I also killed our snake by leaving him in the back yard. He cooked or something. It was so strange, a few hours in the sun and rigor mortis set in. Our food finally came out and our waiter accidentally brought ketchup when we asked for Tabasco. I didn’t even bother correcting him out of fear.

The meals were amazing, Frog Pond has fantastic food. Everything was delicious and the portions were huge. I can’t say as much for the atmosphere. After a long drive I wanted something more. Something relaxing. Mildly unimpressed with our breakfast adventure, we decided we’d go to the beach and digest. Just what St Pete Beach needs to see, Ryan and I digesting. Since we hadn’t planned for the beach we took the tourist route and bought clearance bathing suits in some shitty establishment full of shot glasses and t-shirts that would get you fired from work. All in all the day was fantastic, but I don’t think I’ll see you again Frog Pond. The wait outside was the most relaxing and peaceful part of my experience. Life is too short to pay a pissed off waiter. Back to the dirty diners we go! Their women may be big and ugly but they sure are nice.