Trapped. . .

I thought I was going home today, but I find myself again in room 119 of the Ritz-Carlton Deer Island Resort (Comfort Inn) wondering, wondering when I will encounter the perfect salad. My quest has been filled will many misguided manoeuvres, misplaced platitudes and the stark realization that hotel showers the world over are in fact, quietly solemn torture chambers.

I leave you now with my keen sense of intuition:

Tyler Florence's inspired salads at Applebee's will kick the ass crack out of goober Guy Fieri's dog shit jerky salads from T.G.I.Friday's.

Yeah, there are better options in the area. Emeril has a restaurant down the road, Mary Mahoney's is a great old tradition, but sadly my favorite place, Trapani's was washed away in the sadistic fury of Katrina.

Plus, I'm tired, grumpy, it's late, I'm running out of clean clothes, and Applebee's is about 12 steps away.

Wish me luck as I cross the 4th circle of the salad hell inferno.

God Bless Heineken!