We went to a nearby folk music festival on Sunday. We didn’t take a picnic, so were resorted to using the barbecue hot-dog n’ burger stand run by cheerful volunteers. In terms of gastronomic versatility, it’s pretty basic stuff. The only exotic thing is some plastic cheese slices.
We’re encouraging our daughter to make her own requests in shops and stalls at the moment. There are clearly some bumps that need ironing out.
Nice Middle-Aged Lady Brandishing Tongs: “And what can I get for you, my love?”
A [in her polite, I’m-dealing-with-adults voice]: “I’d like a hot dog, please”
Nice M-A L B T: “Awww, bless! And what would you like with it, sweetheart?”
A: “I’d like some lettuce, with tomato and chilli relish, and some cherry tomatoes and coleslaw. Please.” [Cut to me. Parental facepalm]
Nice M-A etc: “…there’s onions and ketchup”
A: “Oh. Onions are like lettuce, aren’t they? I’ll have them!”
Now-a-bit-bemused Middle-Aged Lady: “I suppose you can always sprinkle some grass on the bun if you want…some… lettuce”
A: “Really? OK then!”
Sarah [overhearing this]: “NO!”
A: “But Mummy WHYYY can’t I have grass?”
Sarah: “We’ve said this before: You can’t eat grass. Don’t listen to the lady” [Glares furious daggers at Middle Aged Lady, who looks thoroughly affronted]
A: “Oh. OK. Please can I have cake for pudding?”
In the end, my burger was horrid, and Alice gave me her hot-dog after a couple of experimental nibbles (it was inedible when I tried it), but the cake was jolly nice. I had two slices.