"Shrimp Louie": House Special

The day the House Special was "On The House"

Years Ago …

At least once a month, my best friend and I would meet downtown for lunch with our mothers, who were also very good friends.

Margie and I were seniors in high school.  Our mothers worked together at the same company and it was just a nice, low key way for the four of us to enjoy being together, away from the stresses of home, school and work.

We always met for lunch at the same place, one of the nicest restaurants in our small Ohio town. They had a killer house luncheon special on Saturdays called a “Shrimp Louie”, which was a delicious chef’s salad, absolutely loaded with shrimp.  We were hooked and wouldn’t even consider ordering anything else.

This particular Saturday began as usual. When we got there and were seated, we ordered our Shrimp Louie Specials. While we waited, we laughed and talked about anything and everything, like best friends do, happy and filled with anticipation.

When our salads were finally served, we were ready. To anyone who noticed, it looked like we hadn’t eaten for days and we were starving. We immediately dug in, full fork.

Halfway through her salad, Mama suddenly put a napkin to her mouth and began making the most awful retching sounds. Of course, we three turned to see what in the world was wrong —the salads were fabulous, like always!

Still retching miserably, Mama reached into her napkin and pulled out the familiar circle of a used Band-Aid and dropped it on the white tablecloth. The Band-Aid’s partially exposed gauze pad had a visible telltale yellow-green stain ...

“Oh.  My.  God. ”We said slowly and in unison. “That’s pus!”

I don’t have to tell you, we couldn’t finish our salads and when management saw why, they were horrified and apologetic. Our shrimp salads were on the house and a complimentary dessert of our choice was sent home with us, as well.

I sure felt sorry for the salad girl in the kitchen who probably got fired because of her Band-Aid ...

Poet/Writer/Author of 5 books.
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