Last night was a momentous occasion for me.

First off, I admitted to liking key lime pie.

In a world of apple and cherry pie-lovers, it can be a bold move to embrace key-lime.  Not quite as risky as claiming pecan pie as your fave, but still pretty risky.

And that was only the beginning of my night.

I also had my very first “Moons Over My Hammy” from Denny’s.

Talk about a rite of passage…it was like a grease-drenched Bar Mitzvah for the 21st Century.

I always joke about that particular entree’s name.  But I had never ordered it.  As a person who doesn’t eat mammals, it’s tough to order food that is centered around ham (or “Hammy” as the case may be).

But recently I saw someone order it without ham. “A Moons Over My Hammy with no Ham!?!?  Its just crazy enough to work!!”

So I ordered the dish with the silliest nomenclature in the laminated Denny’s Menu Universe.

And while I love the MOMH’s name, the literary peak of the Denny’s Menu is under their “Fit Fare” section. A variation of the Grand Slam breakfast: “The Slim Slam – This isn’t no Flim-Flam…”

It’s really a pity the menu doesn’t contain writers credits, because I’d love to see more of his or her work. “Slim Slam: This ain’t no Flim-Flam.”  Brilliant.


So my “Moons Over My Absence of Hammy” arrives at the table.  It’s basically a grilled cheese sandwich with eggs in it.  Lots of cheese.  Lots of AMERICAN cheese. Apparently the “Over” stands for “Overdose of Lactose.”

Now, while we’re on the subject, what is up with American cheese?  It is so processed and gross! As an American, I’m embarrassed.  How can I be proud of the Velveeta-inspired atrocity known as “American Cheese?”  In that cultural battle, I’m gonna award the point to the French.  California brags about their cheeses, so does Wisconsin.  So, regionally we do okay. But as a country, we suck.  “America: Amber Waves of Grain and Suck-Ass Cheese.”

I couldn’t finish my MOMH.  I had a pain in my gut and my arteries started to ache.  But as I left Denny’s huddled over like teen who’d drunk too much Boone’s Strawberry Hill, I knew that I had become a Man.

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