There's no accounting for taste

As I can not get enough of it, I returned to the Glen Iris Inn just a few scant days after I'd eaten there with Brad and Savannah.  Even worse, I ordered practically the same meal.  Following an intense period of curriculum development, friends Kelly, Amanda, Geri and I headed to Letchworth Park for a relaxing lunch break. Relaxing is a relative term with this group.  The Danish brie was our first obstacle. My friend, Amanda's customary lunch consists of raw vegetables.  She'll occasionally bring a dip if she's feeling a bit saucy.  She regarded the congealed-looking mass of warm cheese encased in its resistant rind with transfixed alarm. The combined effects of peer-pressure (more like peer-ridicule) and self-respect spurred her forward, gritting her teeth as she stabbed the oddly-shaped knife into the casing, slightly flinching as the cheese bled out.  "If you hate it, pass it over," I hissed at her hopefully while Kelly and Geri stared at her like the circus spectators of a sword-swallowing act. And like the daredevil she is, Amanda downed the Danish brie and mentally prepared herself for the next course.

The selection of the entries seemed a simple enough process.  The arrival was a complicated debacle.  Geri, thrilled with the inclusion of breakfast items on her lunch menu, had ordered an omelette.  Upon seeing Kelly's beautiful Reuben sandwich, she immediately began lamenting her initial decision.  Before Geri could throw ashes on her head and don sack cloth, Kelly intervened, offering to split her meal. Meanwhile, I was happily eating my tomato-mozzarella salad.  "Excuse me," I asked Greg, our very patient waiter, "but what is this?"  I pointed to the flimsy green items decorating my plate.  "Those are salad greens, ma'am."  Responding to my confused look, Amanda leaned over to whisper, "Lettuce, Amy."

Finally, dessert.  We split the strawberry shortcake and a frozen amaretto soufflé. Geri has the highly developed palate of a cross-country truck driver.  She considered the soufflé with the air of one accustomed to yellow jello. As the creamy custard rolled over her tongue, she frowned and made her pronouncement, "It's taste is reminiscent of an indoor splashpark with vibrant chlorine undertones."  We stared in wonder, admiring her descriptive skills.  "You do paint a picture," Amanda admitted before taking a tentative bite.  She encouraged Kelly, "You like an armaretto sour."  Reminded of a happy occasion that she can only vaguely recollect, Kelly slid her spoon into the soufflé.  We somehow overcame Geri's anti-armaretto announcement and finished both of our desserts.

The arrival of the bill brought dismay and confusion.  It was a lesson in word problem development and real-world math application.  Take a $98 bill with a tax line of $6.18, subtract the $8 park entrance fee, consider that only Amy Mosiman bought a yummy adult beverage, figure in that Kelly and Geri split the appetizer but Amy ate most of it, factor in the fact that Geri only had one bite of the frozen amaretto soufflé and commence arguing for the next twenty minutes.  We are one classy lunch bunch.