Soup Diary 111226

So, last week in Bozeman, my friend Bill and I stopped at a local brew pub for dinner. This is one of those places that defines the Bozeman experience-- kind of self-consciously western while also upscale (catering to trust fund ski bums and Omega style frat boys). The place was quite busy, and service was a bit slow, but after our meal, I dutifully paid the bill by leaving sufficient cash in the little folder containing our ticket. We waited awhile for the waiter to come and collect the bill, but when it appeared he had little intention to do so, we got up to go, just leaving the check and money on the table. It's a fairly big place, and we were seated way over on the far side away from the door, so it took a few minutes to depart. We strolled out to our car, and slowly began to negotiate our way out of the parking lot when Bill noticed a waiter running after us, trying to flag us down. I stopped the car and rolled down the window. The waiter caught up to us, angrily waving a folder like the one we'd left on the table. I wondered what we were going to be accused of (knowing we covered the bill with a more than sufficient tip). But when he got a good look at us, he admitted "Oh, you aren't the guys who stiffed me." I felt a little sorry for the guy, but I also remembered that our waiter didn't exactly give much attention to us during our visit, and maybe that was a staff hallmark. Anyway, we drove off as he continued his likely futile search for the dashers. Oh yeah-- I had the French Onion soup, which was okay, if a bit sweet and somewhat overpriced.