We stopped for lunch on the edge of Crescent City at The Apple Peddler Restaurant, a fine establishment channeling the spirit of Denny’s. Actually the fish and chips wasn’t half bad, though the appetizer salad came out of a bag and the mixed veg on the side was shudderingly reminiscent of school lunches.
Things did, however, go a bit awry at dessert. This was odd since the APR was clearly the local king of pie. A cold case at the entrance displayed a number of pies and cakes: “Take Home a Whole Pie!” it offered. The menu offered pie by the slice. Deep Thought opted for a safe brownie, while Little Startlet had a caramel ice cream sundae (which arrived in a semi-melted state and proceeded to smear itself over her face and across the table). Hubby and I shared a slice coconut cream pie which consisted of a crust; a soft, sweet, bright orange filling of indeterminate flavor (though not unpleasant); and a large pile of soft, white, whippy stuff (that looked very like shaving cream) on the top.
We all tasted the whippy stuff. Not whipped cream. Not even whipped cream out of a can. Not frosting. Not, in fact, anything we’d ever tasted before. It had the texture of melted something. It was like eating a theater prop, all visual satisfaction and no need to worry about flavor. Then it came to me: This was marshmallow fluff. Hubby and I were eating a food product made of sugar, chemicals, and more sugar, with a bit of coloring thrown in.
It was a glorious enhancement to our all-American road trip experience.
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