Give the fatties more syrup

I promised to write a more detailed reminiscence of lunch in Carmel – well here goes. Now remember the context of this lunch. It’s the weekend of the Concours D’Elegance and the little designer seaside town is packed with Ferrari families, the wannabes and me.

I sit at the counter of a little café just off the main street and wait patiently for my BLT and coke. It’s about 11.30 so really the ‘brunching hour’. There are two tables of at least two families traveling together sitting near me. One table for the adults, blonde fluffy haired moms from the mid-west (I think), and checkered shirt dads. The other table is piled with kids. Fatties too.

The helpful waitress attempts to take the fatties some glasses of water and is intercepted by a checkered shirt dad. “No, they don’t need waters” he answers on their behalf. The waters are diverted back to the kitchen.

Slowly their meals start arriving. Pancakes, showered in icing sugar, plates and plates of them, then piles of waffles showered with icing sugar. These are the kids meals and are deposited onto the counter so the fluffy-haired moms can cut them up for the little fatties. A checkered shirt dad starts using his hands, tearing up the food with his fingers into bite size pieces like he was feeding a dog. Then they grab the syrup and start drowning the food. The fatties wait patiently for the food to drop. One kid gets a meal that isn’t obviously pancakes or waffles. It’s a pile of food coated in syrup and icing sugar and piled about 25 cm high on the dinner plate. I ask the waiter what it is, he says it’s the ‘special’ French toast. It’s deep-fried French toast, drowned in syrup and icing sugar. The fatties devour the solid sugar and fat.

In Australia this might constitute child abuse and someone would call the authorities – in Carmel on a sunny Saturday morning, it’s called ‘brunch’. One of the older fatties is chowing into a plate of waffles, stops and says, “Mom, mom, I want more syrup”, “Oh here you go honey” the fatty further drowns the waffles in syrup and continues to shovel the sugar.

It's like watching a train wreck. I want to go over and sit closer so I can hear what they're talking about - I'm finding it hard not to stare. Ah Americana, I love you.