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August 31st, 2004 
I’m confused why this place was called ‘Country Bills’ since I don’t usually associate red leather pin-cushioned banquettes with rural America. Maybe I’ve been missing out. Further evidence to support the misleading name theory is the picture of the CB mascot (pictured second from bottom), a ragtime dandy with spats and strange hair. This a far cry from Cracker Barrel fake-country. But maybe not, because the food was pretty much the same and everybody here was nine hundred years old. I have to credit Jeremy with suggesting CBs and finding it in the first place.
Country Bills has inspired me to start my own Zagats-style restaurant reviews, but my twist is that I’m not going to say anything at all about the food. I’m starting to find the food to be an obstacle to good dining. Take for instance the nasty Chinese restaurant by my house. It has an amazing gigantic neon sign and the interior makes it seem like Jack Lemon and brunette Shirley MacLaine could walk in any second and order chop suey. The grossness of the food is not a problem, only a no camera policy is a problem. Therefore, I need some suggestions. If anyone is reading this in the Pacific Northwest, your information could help save lives.
So that’s my plan. I’m showing my pork chops today because of Megan’s fascination over the choice between American and French fries on the menu (I voted American because it came with gravy).
