More Steak, More Beans

Last night we left the boys at Grandma's house and went out for dinner at a suburban restaurant called Red Stone.  Our server proudly told us it was about to become a national chain.  Yeah, this place had chain written all over it, from the gimicky menu and signature martini, to the faux walnut furniture.  I joked with Will that all the staff must have been trained to treat us to the Red Stone Experience.

But I have to admit, the food was reeeeeally good.  I had a steak that was perfectly cooked.  Will had sweet roasted green beans, and we commented to the waiter about how yummy they were.  "They're haricots verts!" he replied, as if this was the name of their secret recipe.  Part of me wanted to say, that's French for green beans you moron, but he was so enthusiastic and attentive that I couldn't help liking him.

My advice to you, dear reader, is this:  When the Red Stone franchise opens in your neighborhood, go on over and make sure you order the haricots verts.  They're like green beans, only better.