Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 17

This morning started when someone (I can’t imagine who) put the mannequin outside my MIL’s window.

Today we went whitewater rafting. Our guide, I swear, was a guy named Stoner.

Craig, of course, was horrified at the idea he might get wet, and so insisted on sitting in the middle of the raft. Frank and Marie loved the idea of getting soaked, and even wanted to help row. So Stoner gave them each a paddle.

For a while they were somewhat helpful, and it kept them busy. Until we hit a stretch of non-rowing quiet water.

Somehow a shouting match broke out, and I turned around just in time to see them beating each other WITH THE PADDLES while Craig tried to hide in the bottom of the raft. Before I could yell at them to stop, Frank sent Marie’s paddle into the river. Craig, trying to avenge his sister, stood up and knocked Frank’s into the river.

And now we were heading into white water, with half our paddles gone. Stoner was clearly horrified to be watching his company’s property floating behind us, and began frantically steering the boat to try to get them, while Mrs. Grumpy and I paddled away. The next few seconds sent some big waves crashing over the raft, drenching everyone (including Craig). He began hitting Marie on the grounds that it was her fault he was wet, since she’d lost her paddle.

Fortunately, we were able to collect the paddles at the other end of the rapid run. But we spent the rest of the day hearing from Craig about how this was “the worst day ever” because he got wet. All the kids, when we got back to shore, agreed that they liked the river rides at amusement parks better. Wimps.

On the way home we stopped for burgers.

In most of the U.S. condiments are fairly simple: ketchup (yes, I know the Filipino’s like ketchup made from bananas, but I’m talking about the tomato kind), mustard, mayo, BBQ sauce, sometimes 1000 Island dressing. Preferences vary by person and region, but those are the basics

EXCEPT in Utah (and southern Idaho). In this area the main condiment is a concoction called Fry Sauce.

What is Fry Sauce you ask? Nobody really knows, because it’s wildly variable depending on where you eat. Each restaurant/roadstand/house has their own peculiar recipe for it.

But here’s the basic idea: imagine a bunch of typical condiments (ketchup, mayo, mustard, BBQ sauce, 1000 Island, relish, chopped onions, chopped pickles, Russian dressing, Ranch dressing, etc.), all on a shelf. Basically, Fry Sauce is a random combination of any number of these, and it’s usually a pink-red color. To make it I think they take a guy, blindfold him, spin him around 3 times, then send him into the pantry. The first 3 bottles he picks up are what's go into that day’s Fry Sauce. As a result, when you get Fry Sauce, you have no idea what it’s going to taste like.

This evening the planned dinner was turkey & spinach burgers. This didn’t sound good to me to begin with. Then we discovered that the turkey meat had been forgotten. And by the time this was noticed, the town’s grocery store was closed.

So my SIL tried to improvise. She chopped up the spinach, and tried to get it to form patties by mixing it with egg whites, then grilling them.

This was a remarkable unsuccessful endeavor. Frank was convinced that we were either going to starve to death or be forced to eat bugs to survive. I was trying to convince them that they'd love to have hamburger buns with leftover Fry Sauce on them.

Then Mrs. Grumpy saved the day. She went out to the car, and brought in the Costco bag of pancake mix. This was a MUCH more popular item, and we had syrup and butter leftover from breakfast. After a dinner of pancakes everyone was happy, and thanked her for saving our lives. Except for the SIL left with a tray of untouched grilled spinach patties. Who was pissed. She forced her husband and kids to eat her horrible offering (though didn't touch them herself), and ignored the rest of the family who was eating pancakes.

We caught her trying to sneak out of the kitchen later, with a leftover pancake in her purse.