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TGIF round the corner has a French waiter. He has an adorable accent and a slightly haggard look as he whips around with his black apron and his half smile. "Alabama Slammer?" "Jack Daniels Flat Iron Steak?" (Jaaaaacques Danielles..?)
The French guest however is perturbed. He leans forward, a darkness in his round features. "What is a Frenchman doing in this place?" he whispers in a tone of horrified sympathy normally reserved for Dickensian pauper scenes. An American Sports Pub so far from home! Au revoir Filet Mignon, bonjour rumpsteak tristesse! The waiter responds in an embarassed flurry of French.
"I have been here for six months", he explains. "No no, I still cannot speak their language."
The French guest leans back, relieved. "Ah. I will take les potato skins."

Labels: american, food, french