The human female is having a hamburger craving. (She also wants to lose weight; do you see the problem here?) She is poking about online, in search of a well-recommended restaurant in some part of town we can actually find. She has settled on a place named, improbably, The Bearded Lady.
This is going to be very good or very, very bad.
I’m intrigued, but I can’t let her have it all her own way, so I’ve thrown up some impromptu construction between here (our room at the inn) and there, so that her navigation by phone will be useless and she and the human male will argue and wander about until they figure out how to actually get there.
Here we are! It is in an old white frame house in a rather down-market part of the city. A waitress with purple hair has seated us at a table outside. I am more than fine with that, since the inside of this establishment has decibel level that would rival a smithy working at full tilt.
Sigyn is intrigued by the appetizers. Please, my love, let us not order the cactus strips…
But, by all means, I shall order the L.U.S.T. burger—any dish named after a mortal sin is right up my alley.
The humans are perusing the extensive list of wines and hard ciders. Some of them have very… odd names.
Think I’ve found the one I want.
Sigyn is forgoing the more exotic beverages (the sweet little thing has no head for alcohol) in favor of examining the herbage. What is it, my love?
She says it’s, “mmmmlavender.”
The purple-haired waitress has brought the human male’s cider. The label says it’s supposed to be flavored with lumberjacks, but turns out it’s actually made with rhubarb. He’s not overly impressed.
But Sigyn approves of the color.
All of the reviews for this place said, “OMG, you have to try the fried leeks!”
So we are. (poke, poke, poke.) They seem harmless enough.
(nibble nibble) Odin’s eyepatch! These alliaceous tidbits are quite delectable. I mean, nearly anything is good beer-battered and fried, but these are superlative.
Our burgers have arrived. The human male has lost no time divesting his of any vestiges of pickle. The human female will probably eat her pickles separately, which is a noted quirk of hers. She’s ordered her cow-sandwich with caramelized onions, but I don’t see any. Perhaps they are lurking beneath the beef…
Sigyn has no opinion on the burgers, being entirely distracted by the cheese-sprinkled fries.
We will likely have to roll the human female out of here on a barrow, and no doubt tomorrow she will regret gorging so dreadfully, but for now, we are all replete.