When I was young my family rarely went out save for Easter Sundays when after church we’d drive to the other side of the county to have lunch at a regional chain restaurant. For an eight year-old it was quite fancy, especially when compared to the only other eatery I had been exposed to, the one that served burger patties in a Styrophoam clam shell boxes and hadn’t yet introduced kid’s meals accompanied by little plastic toys. (Yes, I’m older than the Happy Meal.)
I sometimes think of this whe...