“We’ll take two Captain’s Tenders,” Liam said, handing over a credit card as if surrendering a chest of doubloons. “One with buried treasure sauce. And a Grog’s Gulp.”
Liam took a bite of his own Barnacle Burger , which was, to be fair, surprisingly juicy despite the wilted lettuce. As a splash of blue raspberry shot up through his straw, he watched his daughter grin, a smear of honey mustard on her cheek. pirates bay waterpark menu
They claimed a wobbly table under a tattered canvas umbrella. When the tray arrived—orange plastic baskets lined with fake newspaper print—Maya gasped. The tenders were enormous, golden, and steaming. The fries were thick-cut and dusted with something that tasted like paprika and magic. And the Grog’s Gulp was so electric blue it glowed. As a splash of blue raspberry shot up
Maya, all of nine years old and a self-proclaimed chicken tender connoisseur, pointed a decisive, pruney finger toward the larger of the two thatched-roof stands. A giant wooden sign, carved to look like a ship’s wheel, read: The tenders were enormous, golden, and steaming
The menu was overpriced. The names were ridiculous. But right then, with the sound of splashing, screaming, and fake cannon fire in the air, Liam decided that Pirates Bay could charge whatever it wanted. Because some moments—and some chicken tenders—were worth their weight in gold doubloons.
“Dad,” she announced, treading water, “my treasure map says it’s time for grub.”