Dinner at Bonnie and Ron’s
Enough busting my brain trying to count trump. Tonight we went over to Bonnie and Ron’s for dinner and Mexican Train.
Bonnie cooks a mean little chicken. Or Cornish Game hen, but in my house they were just called little chickens. My mother always thought that because they were small they would cook quickly, which is why I’ve eaten many an undercooked little chicken. Bonnie gets it right. Because she likes me, she made two dishes of rice–one with mushrooms, and one that I would be willing to eat.
Then it was time for the Mexican Train. If you haven’t played this silly game, it’s a dominoes variation. The usual matching of dots is eased by having color-coded tiles for those of us who can no longer see across the table to discern whether that is 11 or 12 spots. Everyone plays their own “train”, or they can play on the joint “Mexican Train”, as they choose.
There are silly rules, of course. When you are down to two tiles and play one, you have to say “woo woo” or you face a penalty. Some of us woo better than others.
I want to say that there is little to no skill involved, but then I notice how often Ron wins. He is the one counting, counting, counting, just like at the bridge table. He knows how many 3 spots are left, and who couldn’t play on a 3 last round. So there may indeed be skill, it’s just over my head.
Dessert was a Boston Cream Pie, which is just heaven in a 9″ circle. I drew magic tiles and won a game. It was raining lightly on the way home, which makes a wonderful sound in the convertible. Life is good.