As my final dining experience during my Norman house sitting retreat, I decided to try the Mont, 1300 Classen Blvd., one more time.
I had originally been there—very pre-stroke, mind you—with an ex-girlfriend who, apparently, is now a rising star in the town’s political power structure. While that’s all well and good for her, I have to admit that I had a terrible time at the Mont, for various humanistic reasons and, even worse, thought that the much-ballyhooed nachos I attempted to consume were barely alright.
But, with ten long years in the broken rearview mirror of my past, I thought that, since I’m in town, I’d give the restaurant another go, this time with my gal-pal Jodie who, as a good friend, could make everything all the better, even if the food was, once again, barely alright. And, I have to say, the plan mostly worked. Mostly.
We were the first customers in the parking lot when we showed up around lunchtime earlier this week, with more and more people eventually trickling in, mostly thin blonde women and tubby brunette men. Seated outside, as I examined the photocopied menu, I already knew that I wanted to sample the nachos again, a glutton for not only punishment, but for chips and cheese as well.