Welcome back to the table. The clock in Rome is whoever’s guess. The salad opinions are unsolicited. The puppy has opinions about feet. Episode 334 of Lunchtime In Rome is the one where a marathon Tuesday, a county fair, a dumped-in coaching gig, a fantasy draft, and a very American condiment all wander into the same conversation and refuse to leave.
The puppy industrial complex
Toby is very cute and, at present, a part-time jerk. That is not slander. That is the official diagnosis of a house that has discovered crate time is not optional. Neighbors, bagel people, and a mysterious school of thought involving always hold the dog on your right side have filed their training briefs. The family hired an actual trainer anyway, which is how you know they are serious and also tired.
Also filed this week: school drop-off, orthodontist, a birthday dinner, tying a nippy dog in the back of the car, and the sacred ritual known as Toby Time. If you have ever come home at 9 p.m. to a creature that wants to play Zoom Zoom Zoom, you already understand the plot.
Busy people, competing podcasts, and a dressing with a backstory
One host is stacking two full-time jobs plus emergency high school coaching because certifications did not, as they say, get certified. Another hit the first speed bump of the school year and still showed up to talk about it. Somebody went to the Westmoreland County Fair and would like it on the record that the people-watching is elite.
Then the table veers, as this table does, into The Consumers — the other podcast where comedians autopsy a product. This week’s item: Hidden Valley Ranch. Europe, we learn, does not have ranches in the American sense, which leads to some very confident guesses about what they call the white stuff. One of those guesses is “Alpine Snow Dressing.” We are not going to tell you the real origin story here. That would ruin the bit. Hit play.
What are you actually good at?
This is the heart of the episode, and it sneaks up on you. One of the guys is 55, can preach, lead, study, and spin ten plates at once, and is still asking the question out loud. Another is a jack of all trades who will not claim a specialty. Eric will admit to drums, reliability, and making machines behave. Nobody in the room is doing a TED Talk. They are doing the thing friends do when the week has been long: inventory their actual gifts without the LinkedIn polish.
Then the comments roll in, and the table gets generous. Work ethic forged the hard way. Autism advocacy as a lane, not a slogan. Connecting people. Recycling like it’s a spiritual gift. Being a kid on purpose. Mothering through a dark season. Generating terrific ideas and then watching them die a lonely death inside one’s own head. (There is a volleyball net, a bathtub foot scrubber, and a concert blanket with nubbins. Patents were not filed. CVS, somehow, was involved.)
The assignment, if you want one: tell somebody what they’re good at. The guys wish they did it more. After this episode, so will you.
And then, because it is lunchtime, food
Sliders. Scotch eggs. Sous-vide steak that has ruined restaurants. Chicken that stays at 145 like it signed a contract. Holiday Mexican corn that even the cook is afraid to attempt twice. A house ranch so beloved it has its own nickname. Also: a cucumber incident that opens the show and should probably close it. “It’s all seed” is not a salad review. It is a lifestyle.
Listen if you’ve ever smiled and nodded at bad dog advice. Stay if you’ve ever wondered whether being decent at twelve things counts as a talent. Leave with a better ranch question than you arrived with.
On the table this week
Unsolicited puppy curriculum vs. an actual trainer
Penn Hills coaching, two jobs, and zero transition time
Why ranch is called ranch (we are not spoiling it)
Fantasy draft lore, Brisk iced tea, and a very nice mustache
Listener answers that range from holy to hilarious
The dish each guy will defend in court
Episode 334 of Lunchtime In Rome. Title pending. Cucumber forever in the credits.
Join them next week for 335. Same table. Same chaos. Slightly fewer seeds, one hopes.
