Nancho Party

Another day, another trip through the wonderfully mundane.

It began earlier this evening, when I started to feel slightly uneasy. It wasn't the kind of anxiety that you are sure of the source, due to some past event or future occurrence that is twisting your gut. No, it was the sort of all consuming, sickening anxiety. Not debilitating, of course, but consuming enough where you notice it with distinction and you certainly cannot help but pay it mind, and try to discern the roots thereof. I supposed that the cause of my anxiety was the result of a number of things, namely finals week coming up in short order, several projects and papers due in a matter of hours, and a huge fiasco involving my college financial aid. Hopefully, these situations will resolve themselves, and I'm certainly feeling better at this point, though it's in no small part thanks to action taken on my behalf. Knowing that I would soon asphyxiate myself simply sitting in front of my monitor, I resolved to alleviate my suffering with the assistance of my compatriots, by way of a celebration.

A nancho party, one could say.

In the immediate area around my college, there sits a wonderful bar and grill called the Tavern on the Avenue, or "Tav on the Ave" for short. Myself and my friends discovered the Tav whilst flipping through some free coupon books we got when we moved in, and happened upon a coupon for a free order of "Super Fries." Of course, how could we pass up this opportunity? Free food, for one, and that very free food was also called Super Fries. This was something that required investigation.

We had first arrived at the Tav several weeks ago, deciding to check the place out after a night class on a Wednesday. Coupon in hand, we quickly discovered the wonders of the Tav. In addition to a friendly atmosphere and the most wonderful waitresses I've ever had the pleasure of being served by, the Tav also sells buffalo wings for fifty cents each after nine PM. Of course, there would be no way we wouldn't take advantage of these deals, and considering that between the four of us we had at least a dozen or so coupons due to multiple copies of the same book, we were pretty much set. Since that first night, the Tav has become the home of our weekly "Wing Wednesday," something that we all look forward to very, very much.

I must digress, however, for in and of itself entails many other stories, mostly good memories, some mundane. Though this recount is not of a Wing Wednesday, no. As I had mentioned earlier, I was feeling a bit down on myself tonight, the cumulative stress of the days beforehand and the end of the semester all rallied against me; I needed an outlet. Due to our regular patronage at the Tav, our waitresses had, on more than one occasion, given us coupons for a free "Triple Dip," satisfied with out courtesy and tendency to tip fairly generously. I had two of these coupons in my wallet; so of course, the game had to be afoot.
I came across my friend Colin in his room down the hall from mine and explained to him the situation. Seeing as how he is the only one of our group with a car, our expedition was entirely up to his whims. Thankfully, even with tendencies to be a bit of a tool every now and then, Colin tends to be a fair bit of a bro about things. I had faith that he would make a favorable decision.

And it would indeed appear that my faith was well placed. Though I had caught him at a seemingly inopportune moment (He had just returned from the meal hall) to ask him to take us out to eat, it seems that the combined allure of a free nacho platter, camaraderie, and the possibility of Super Fries was more than enough to scoot him along. His roommate and my long time best friend, Skyler, was also in tow. My own roommate, Mike, was somewhat less inclined to join us, but he managed to tear himself away from his feverish paper writing to enjoy an array wonderful fried dishes with us.

The November air was pleasant for a Minnesotan evening. I was unaware of the exact temperature, but I felt that my cashmere V-neck sweater and accompanying blue sport coat were perhaps a bit unnecessary. Though, winter is my favorite season of the year, primarily due to the attire. I'm a sweater kind of guy, you see. Any opportunity to rock some wool is a good day in my book. Though my jeans felt slightly out of place, it was not an occasion to become particularly riled up over one's lack of formal attire. I couldn’t help but notice that Skyler’s choice of apparel and unusually superior height stat made him look rather like Pickle Inspector in mourning, which reminded me of the Problem Sleuth costume I was attempting to put together. I steered myself back to the task at hand, however. For tonight, I would need fortitude of mind, body, and spirit.

We proceeded to Colin's electric blue Chevy Aveo, a small economy car that you would only ever purchase if you had absolutely no idea what you were doing. If James May were here, he’d be shaking his head in disappointment to be sure. Avvi, as he affectionately called her, had been Colin's car since his high school days, and had dutifully shepherded us through many days of inclimate weather, nights of debauchery, and other some such nonsense. She had earned our respect, and was almost as much a member of the family as any one of us.
We masterfully whipped out of the crowded parking lot and sped down the road, making various catcalls and poking fun as we passed my roommate's fraternity house. En route to wonderful nachos and fun, with "Love Will Find You (Separate Ways)" by Journey blasting through the noble sound system, it certainly felt like we were on top of the world. And as soon as we pulled through the last intersection separating us from the Tav, we were sure of it. The welcoming sign was our star, and we wise men had our gifts prepared.

As per the usual custom we passed through the oaken doors paned with frosted glass and seated ourselves at an open booth. Skyler and Mike sat across from me, and Colin to my left. I liked sitting on the inside of the booth for some reason. It lessens my freedom to retrieve popcorn or use the restroom, but it in itself possesses a quality that I simply refuse to pass up in any occasion that I can.

Seated, it was mere seconds until a friendly face came up to greet us. Her name was Krista. She hadn't served us before, but like all the other waitresses, she was kind, polite, and to the point. We ordered drinks; two Cherry Sprites, a Cherry Coke, and a Mr Pibb. The Cherry Coke was mine, as it had been a favorite of mine since I was small. That, and the Tav doesn't serve Dr Pepper. Mr Pibb is all well and good, but it's just not the same. There's something fantastic about Dr Pepper that simply cannot be replicated. Something really excellent to which no other soft drink holds a candle.

We began our typical friendly banter, and thankfully Krista returned not two minutes later to abscond with our coupon for free nachos. I came expecting nothing more than chips and their accompanying dip, but Colin was apparently feeling all the more generous that night, evident in his ordering of Super Fries and offering to spot the rest of us for the cost. Getting a meal of soda, nachos, and Super Fries for almost nothing? Truly, was this Shangri la?

I was prepared when Krista returned with our Triple Dip. The tri colored chips were a wonderful symphony of red, black, and yellow. What's more is that to accompany the delicious pressed corn were three small bowls, containing three-bean dip, ranch dressing, and of course, nacho cheese with jalapeños. In a melee of maize and milk curd the shards of corn were swiftly devoured. Satisfying to be sure; our nancho party was underway and wonderful. Typical as I am, I limited myself to the nacho cheese dip, though in a bold maneuver of deft chip manipulation, I managed to away with one of the jalapeno slices. Ever adventurous, Skyler dipped one of his chips in not one, not two, but all three dipping sauces. At once! Oh ho, Skyler, truly you best me in tonight’s games. Dip after dip, crunch after crunch, I was certain that there was nothing better in the world. Until, that is, I caught Krista out of the corner of my eye.

I was expecting her to be carrying Super Fries and yet, she was. I had enjoyed Super Fries before, but today, there was something unexpected. Under typical circumstances, Super Fries are a wondrous dish consisting of a large plate of straight French fries slathered in a layer of mozzarella cheese and topped with seasoned salt, green peppers, and tomato chunks in a hodgepodge of fried food perfection. I thought I had this worked out in my head; I thought I had carefully prepared myself to withstand the power of Super Fries, for their grand nature holds no limits. I thought I was ready, but I was wrong, because I had missed out on one key detail.

THAT

WASN'T

EVEN

THEIR

FINAL

FORM

Lo and behold, the Super Fries arrived, perfect as they were, and yet, the impossible had just happened. Perfection had been improved upon, for atop of the delicious mountain of potato and dairy, chunks of bacon were liberally sprinkled thereupon. I would have had a heart attack on the spot, but I had to will myself out of cardiac arrest; there were Super Fries to be had.

Handfuls on top of handfuls the Super Fries graced my tongue, my taste buds. Their golden brown splendor accentuated by errant bits of hickory smoked pork, fried to a wonderfully crunchy, yet chewy consistency. Oh my. It was almost too much for me to handle. There was indeed a certain religious experience to be had in this moment, for if God truly is the paramount joy and understanding of all that is, was, and ever shall be, these Super Fries come pretty goddamn close. Every bite, every mouthful, every single taste brought me one step closer to enlightenment. Was this the Dalai Lama’s secret to happiness? It would appear to be so.

Unfortunately, even Super Fries do not withstand the test of time. Platters, depleted, both nachos and Super Fries, gone. I and my companions stuffed and satisfied. Though a bar our venue and the choice of culinary investment non-alcoholic, the children of the corn showed their worth beyond any brazen ballroom bourbon, brandy, or concoction of bitters.
I received change for a twenty; I had only spent $2.35, thanks to Colin graciously picking up the Super Fries for everyone. Once Krista had returned with our change, I offered her a generous tip of two dollars, nearly what I had paid, but oh so worth it. Tipping big has always been a habit of mine, as it ensures future excellence in service and lightens the day of those doing the serving. They don’t make much as it is, so I don’t see why I can’t help them along their way, if only by just so much.

Jackets, donned. Shotgun, fought over. Radio, pumping. Day, seized. Night, throttled.