.tots.of.doom.

Last Saturday Dharma and I went to the Foundry before her gig. We both love the Foundry - excellent food which they serve until 1am, and they have a fairly decent glutard-friendly menu (to borrow Nanda's term) although they do not have a dedicated kitchen.
Because nobody has a dedicated kitchen.
It's a risk I take every time I eat out. Sometimes it works out; other times, not so much. Especially when it comes to fried food. I know better. I do. But we were out and I wasn't even hungry, but Dharma was eating and I thought it'd be nice to have something to snack on, and I was craving salt, and I ordered a side of tots.
A side.
A small plate.
Tiny.
If I could have ordered 5 tots I would have.

But I guess the waiter, bless him, thought I was starving or something, and he brought me the giant plate of tots.
Tots.
The comfort food of my generation.

So of course I ate almost all of them.
Not because I was hungry. Because they were sitting there right in front of me.

 This is a giant plate. It was covered with a mountain of tots. And they went to live in my belly.

 

And of course Dharma and I had to make tot-art from the leftovers. Meet Totter McDoom-instein - so named for the reaction my system had to his gluten contaminated deliciousness. 

Will I go back to the Foundry?

Yes, of course I will. They have what is probably the best gluten free pizza in Kansas City. 

But in the future I probably ought to avoid the tots.