Dining with the Redneck Husband

Cooking for Jasen is miserable. He hovers. He complains. He farts. It's a post I'm just not ready to tackle because honestly, cooking for him sucks. I hate it. He's a better cook, and he knows it. So I'm saving that for another day.
Dining with Jasen is an experience. Our first "experience" was at Carvers, a nice restaurant in Chesapeake. I was 15, and horrified when Jasen put a loaf of bread down his over-sized jeans instead of asking for a to go box. He is the definition of raised in a barn. I don't know who taught him manners, but they failed. Miserably.
This weekend we traveled to Blacksburg for the Tech game. Go Hokies! But I digress. We stayed in Roanoke, and made reservations at Hotel Roanoke for Friday night. Hotel Roanoke is the best restaurant within 75 miles of the city. Seriously.
Going to propose? Hotel Roanoke. Graduation? Hotel Roanoke. Tech game without your six-year-old? Hotel Roanoke.
We're shown to our white-linen table, and peruse the menu. Apparently, the peanut soup is a must. To be honest, I was a bit scared to try an entire bowl, so I ordered the $3 sample. It was lovely. Creamy, with some sort of chicken or vegetable stock undertone, and chopped peanuts to top it off. It's been on the menu since 1935.
Jasen takes a sip "Jesus Christ, Frances. I can make this. Get me a jar of peanut butter, a cup of water, and some chopped peanuts. And there ya go. Peanut soup. Give me my $3 back."
Lovely. We sat and talked for a bit, and Jasen is his with an epiphany. He realizes the possibilities of the flask I bought him for his birthday. I ordered a peach martini, and he ordered an $8 beer.
"Babe...I just thought of the best idea ever. I take my flask into every restaurant we go to. I order a Coke, or whatever. And then I just take it to the bathroom and add the vodka."
"You're going to take your drinks into the bathroom? That's gross honey."
"It's not gross. It's going to save us a fortune...think of how much I drink at dinner. We'll save thousands!"
"Okay. Do what you want. But I'm hiding in the ladies room while you're ducking under the table to spice up your Coke."
Dinner was great. We both learned what "Pittsburg Rare" means. Not something Jasen felt up for with a sirloin. Charred on the outside, literally cold on the inside. A cold marbled steak turned off even my meat-eating man.
After dinner Jasen immediately asked "So...where's the pisser in this place?"
I downed the remainder of my delish martini and asked for the dessert menu.
There was some chocolate concoction the waitress described as ordinary, a salted caramel cake that sounded like perfection, and Banana's Foster. I wanted caramel. Jasen wanted a sundae from Dairy Queen.
"What the f*%# is Bananas Foster?"
"It's a dessert, honey. They flambe it table-side. Watch ... that man is getting it for his little boy."
"Jesus. I'll give you Bananas Foster. You get a bunch of bananas from Harris Teeter, I'll grab a blow torch from the barn and ... poof ... an $18 dessert. Hey...that kid's got a chef's hat on. I want one of those. Not for me. For Juni."
The waitress brought Jasen a chef's hat for Juni. The entire weekend, that hat sat on the console of the 4Runner because Jasen wanted it to arrive in perfect condition for our little man. He may have zero manners, but his heart makes up for it.
I ordered the caramel cake, and thanks to the waitress, the chef made Jasen a vanilla sundae to save me a trip to Dairy Queen.