They weren't serving scrapple on Saturday. They didn't even have western-style scrambled eggs. I settle for the back end of a batch of pancakes and a piece of coffee cake. It tastes disappointingly good. I want bad food, and I want it badly.
Dinner rises to the occaison.
I hit the flounder with salsa, scalloped potatoes, and some odd rolls with some kind of seeds on top. The flounder is average, once you get over the fact that salsa and flounder don't work well together. The scalloped potatoes make me afraid. Britain started out on the other side of the Atlantic. They're justified, even though I think the people at the Cove were staring at me as I pumped my ranch dressing.