Went to dinner with a couple that just moved into the neighborhood. The conversation eventually went into the direction of the most unusual foods we have eaten. When it was my turn I said I have eaten filly mignon. The woman says.
“Oh Frank. That’s not an unusual meal. I’ve eaten filet mignon many times. Haven’t you?”
“Yes. I have devoured filet mignon often times.” I answered. “But I didn’t say filet mignon. I said I ate filly mignon.”
Neighbor lady looks at my wife as if to say. “What am I missing here?”
My wife looks at neighbor lady and says. “Just ignore him.”
“It’s the truth.” I said to my wife. “You know that. I used to bring filly mignon home.”
Neighbor lady now stares confusingly at her husband.
Neighbor husband says to his wife. “I think Frank is saying he ate horse meat.”
Neighbor lady was chewing on a potato and nearly choked on it.
“OMG.” You ate a horse?”
“Well no. Not the entire horse.”
“But. But…how could you?”
“It was fried in a pan. Doesn’t take long to cook either. Kinda tasted like a cube steak.”
After neighbor lady took a few sips of her wine and calmed down I explained to her that back in the early 1970’s I used to work in a place called the Working Man’s Tavern. A beer and shots bar that sold different foods. At one time they had Filly Mignon on the menu,
“But that’s disgusting.” She said. “The poor horses.”
“Look. The horses were better off on the grill. Here’s why. There was a horse race track right down the road from the tavern. Some of the losing horses were old and ready for the glue factory. Their horse racing days were over. So the tavern would get those losers.
The Filly Mignon menu on the wall read:
1st Place
2nd Place
3rd Place
Or 4th Place, This Place”
“Oh Frank. That’s not an unusual meal. I’ve eaten filet mignon many times. Haven’t you?”
“Yes. I have devoured filet mignon often times.” I answered. “But I didn’t say filet mignon. I said I ate filly mignon.”
Neighbor lady looks at my wife as if to say. “What am I missing here?”
My wife looks at neighbor lady and says. “Just ignore him.”
“It’s the truth.” I said to my wife. “You know that. I used to bring filly mignon home.”
Neighbor lady now stares confusingly at her husband.
Neighbor husband says to his wife. “I think Frank is saying he ate horse meat.”
Neighbor lady was chewing on a potato and nearly choked on it.
“OMG.” You ate a horse?”
“Well no. Not the entire horse.”
“But. But…how could you?”
“It was fried in a pan. Doesn’t take long to cook either. Kinda tasted like a cube steak.”
After neighbor lady took a few sips of her wine and calmed down I explained to her that back in the early 1970’s I used to work in a place called the Working Man’s Tavern. A beer and shots bar that sold different foods. At one time they had Filly Mignon on the menu,
“But that’s disgusting.” She said. “The poor horses.”
“Look. The horses were better off on the grill. Here’s why. There was a horse race track right down the road from the tavern. Some of the losing horses were old and ready for the glue factory. Their horse racing days were over. So the tavern would get those losers.
The Filly Mignon menu on the wall read:
1st Place
2nd Place
3rd Place
Or 4th Place, This Place”