Last night I had an amazing dinner date with some of my best friends from high school and our very favourite (now retired) teacher, Mr. B (along with his wife Jan).
From left: Dawn, Emily, myself, Joel, Lisa, Joanna, Mr. B, Jan.
If you think it’s odd that we’re still chummy-chummy with our teacher from high school, you should know that our school had about 150 people in it (huge, I know), and you are basically looking at my entire OAC history class right there, plus Jan of course. (Side note: OAC is Grade 13, before Ontario got rid of it.)
Over five years of high school, we all got pretty close and we have always considered Mr. B a friend (he actually admitted to us that he has a picture of all of us on his and Jan’s nightstand :)).
This is the second dinner we’ve had with Mr. B and Jan in the last six months or so, and I always leave them with a warm fuzzy feeling. It’s funny to relive silly high school memories, and it’s hilarious to hear the things adults remember you doing when you were younger and still a bit lacking in the common sense department (like the time we were out to dinner while on a school trip in Quebec, and we took a bunch of pictures of ourselves pretending fried frogs legs were mustaches and unibrows).
Tonight we went to Baton Rouge, which is kind of a story in itself, but first let me get to the eats!
I had never been to Baton Rouge before, and it was great!
I ordered the Amarillo chicken, which came smothered in cheese (just how I like it!), and Parmesan veggies and salsa on the side. I actually could not finish it all, my chicken was ginormous!
We also had a round of tortilla chips at our table, one with some sort of cheese dip (DELICIOUS.) and the other with spinach dip.
I went to town on these, so this may have had something to do with why I couldn’t finish my dinner.
Now back to the rouge in Baton Rouge…if you are familiar with French at all, you may know that rouge means red in English. Though none of my friends are French, we like to throw a little Francais into our Anglais sometimes to spice up our vocab. We interchange rouge with red a LOT. Rouge has a deep meaning for us, and it has an especially deep meaning for us with Mr. B.
One of Mr. B’s favourite memories of me (he has told me this) was when we were on a band trip to Halifax in Grade 11 (yeah, we were all in the band…I played the flute. Don’t hate). We were staying in a University dorm, and in the middle of the night a few of us dragged our mattresses into the hallway for a serious round of hotel Olympics (I actually believe this is where hotel Olympics originated…)
Ohh wait, do I have an actual picture of this?
Yes, yes I do. (I am the one holding the fire extinguisher, which was just a prop for the photo. I was not actually going to do anything destructive with it, not to worry.)
Anyway, I guess we were being pretty loud and woke up Mr. B. (our band director, and chaperon), because seconds after that picture was taken he showed up to tell us to go to bed. Looking like this:
Angry. Tired. Clad in a short, bright, rouge robe.
I don’t have an actual picture of that sadly…
We were dying. Absolutely dying.
This image has basically been ingrained into all of our heads…an angry man in a mustache and a short rouge robe, arms flailing wildly, telling us to go to bed. I may have never lived down the hotel Olympics, but he has definitely never lived down the rouge robe incident. We are probably so annoying because we bring it up all the time.
When I informed him that we were going to Baton Rouge I said that we had chosen this restaurant because of the amazing memories his rouge robe has given us, and that he should probably wear it to dinner in honour of this ;).
Unfortunately, Baton Rouge has a dress code, but he did bring a surprise…a framed picture of our old band!
It was a really great night! And I have some more shenanigans coming up with these gals tonight…