Portions of this entry have been cross posted to our food blog.

I am easy to please. No.... I am very really profoundly easy to please when it comes to food. Ok.... so I am profoundly easy period. Not in a slutty way. Well, Ok.... here's the deal. When it comes to food I am slutty. The definition of slutty is promiscuous. If you look up promiscuous and tilt your brain toward food you get:


pro·mis·cu·ous 

adj.  

1. Having casual food relations frequently with different foods or food partners; indiscriminate in the choice of food or food partners.

So there it is... "Hi, My name is Randy and I am a food slut". I have mostly never met a carb or calorie I didn't like. Some I like less than others and choose not to eat. And some, very very few, I have not, do not, and never will eat. Like... say... many foods that start with the letter "T".

Such as:

• Tentacles or anything else that sports suction cups -- I have eaten squid but I am not going to eat the suction cups. And I'm sure as hell not eating them raw. I have a vision of them crawling back up my esophagus, and that thought alone assures me that one way or the other they would be making their exit through my mouth. Bleckkk
• Testicles -- Simply not going to happen. Call them "Rocky Mountain Oysters", Mountain Oysters, Calf Fries, Swinging Beef, Montana Tendergroins, Cowboy Caviar, Prairie Oysters or anything else you can dream up, I don't care, I'm not eating them. Period. I just found a recipe for calf fry pate or as they refer to it "Bull Butter". It begins with "1 lb calf fries, trimmed and peeled" with a link to a description of how to "Clean" the testicles. I will spare you the entire description, but I did want to point out one part of the first sentence in the cleaning directions. "Cleaning fries (once they've been thawed) can be a little unsettling...", what the hell is wrong with people. Why would I eat something that can be described as "unsettling" to prepare? I would like to expound a bit on a question I asked in a previous post. The question posed was, "When did we start eating bull testicles?" Because, as I put forward in the other post, at some point someone has to decide that it is time to start eating, "that" what ever the "that" of the moment might involve. I guess we are too well fed now. You don't see a lot of real food innovation nowadays. I'd like to see someone say "Let's chase down that..... " .... Wait....  OMG... I can't think of a single creature that we have not tried to eat a piece of in the past or present. There are no new food ideas. We are bereft of animal parts to eat. We must immediately set out to create a new species with new, interesting parts which we can barbecue, steam, fry or roll in seaweed and eat ravenously. The future of the Iron Chef is in the balance. (DG has suggested that the world may not have begun to eat penguin and or penguin flippers and I hope that she is right or the world might loose it's heart song. Plus with all that fat, penguins are probably really high in cholesterol.)
• Tartare -- Steak tartare.... don't you people have matches or a lighter? If I'm going to eat raw meat, it means I'm really really hungry and God has stricken fire from the face of the earth. That's just messed up. What the hell is wrong with you people?
• Tripe -- Get real.. tripe is the inside of the stomach of cows and other animals. I imagine that the weak people in the village got the tripe because they could not fight for the parts of the animal that are actually edible. And if you try to eat the "honeycombed" type of tripe it looks like it might have suckers. It's a part of the stomach AND it appears to have suckers. There you have it, two reasons not to eat tripe.

So now you see that with a few exceptions I am not hard to please. As a diner, I am not high maintenance. Which brings us back to doe what could go wrong with lunch.

I don't understand what happened on Saturday. Hopefully the events of that fateful day are not a sign of the apocalypse or something worse. 

We have a new Olive Garden in our city. Our first Olive Garden. It was one of the subject of most chants and rants you would hear around town. "When will we ever get an Olive Garden?" Like that is what defines a town, instead of things like running water and flushing toilets. DG and I had been waiting for the crowds to die down before we ventured in to try it out and make our "review". There was no real hurry to visit this location since we have eaten at Olive Garden's in other cities. Yes, before dogs (BD) we might get in the car and drive 60,80, or 100 miles for lunch or dinner. Unlike many other Lawtonians we decided long ago that if the restaurant wouldn't come to us we would go to it.

Now, in the year of our dogs 2008 (AC, anno canis) we don't have the flexibility of the past so we stay closer to home, we do still occasionally hitch up our buggy and make the trek to Wichita Falls, Oklahoma City, Clinton, Marlow, Duncan or even Pumpkin Center (I think that is where Dry Beaver Super Club is located. Maybe not but it is "out in the country" near there. It looks a little like the farm in the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. But that is for a future post.), but mostly we stay close to home which makes it a little exciting to visit someplace new and fresh.

As we were looking for a lunch destination last Saturday we noticed that the parking lot at the afore mentioned Olive Garden wasn't full. DG wheeled us into the parking lot and we walked to the door anticipating a wonderful Italian lunch.

"How many today?", the greeter asked as we opened the door ourselves as she watched from her station.

"Just the two of us", I replied.

"We will have a table for you.... (hands me the pager which was about the size of my head) ....in ..... ughhhh.... in awhile."

"Ohhhhhhhh Kaaaaaaaaaaa" I said, thinking, "What the hell does that mean?".

"Here you go, here's a pager so we can let you know when your table is ready.", she said, with absolutely no memory that she had just given me a pager 1.5 seconds before. I didn't even mention to her that I was going to be standing three feet from her and probably didn't need one much less two pagers (Did I mention they are as big as my head?). I probably couldn't have held them both without a shoulder strap.

I reached out as if to take the pager from her and said with a surprised look on my face, "Oh, I already have one. I guess I've had it for awhile."

I noticed that we were one of four couples waiting. One in front of us and two behind. Suddenly the spaceships lights started flashing and I had to look away to prevent a seizure. As the seater, who was different than the greeter, took us to our seat I realized that I still had the spaceship and it was still flashing, flashing, flashing. So I went back and handed the pager to the greeter while shielding my eyes from the incessant flashing, flashing , flashing and said, " Here hold this for awhile, I'll pick it back up on our way out."

I caught back up with DG and the seater, and I say caught back up because they had been steadily walking toward empty tables on the far side of the restaurant and then at the last moment the seater turned down a little stubby hallway and made another turn and brought us all the way back to within ten or fifteen feet from where we were standing and waiting originally. It was like he thought we needed a little run before the pasta. Seriously, I  had seen the table we ended up in while I was jogging to catch up and wondered why the heck we couldn't sit there.

As we sit down I realize that he walked us around the restaurant past other empty tables and then seated us next to the swinging kitchen doors. Great... lunch while listening to the sound of multiple people yammering and pots banging bounces off of 1000 stainless steel surfaces mix with the sound of wet food products hitting the floor.  No problem though ..... someone has to sit there... might as well be us. It became apparent that the plan is to make you wait even if there are tables so they instill in you that they are much sought after....

The next person we see is holding a bottle of Chianti that was large enough for Barbra Eden to actually get into. "Would you like to try a glass of our blah, blah, cellar, blah, wonderful, blah with your lunch today?", she asked while holding her hand in front of the bottle like one of Barker's Beauties.

"No thank you, I will have a glass of diet Coke and my wife will have a glass of water.", I politely replied. It is 11:00am. It is not Spring Break on South Padre Island and this is not Planet Hollywood, what the hell is wrong with these people. Is it even legal to offer someone liquor before noon?

"How bad can this get???", I wondered.

The answer to that question came quickly as out waitress (Chianti Girl) arrived and asked very matter of factually, "Are you in a rush or will you be having a leisurely lunch with us today?"

At this point DG is totally dumbfounded. She looks up at Chianti Girl and says, "I have absolutely no idea how to answer that question." (Chianti Girl looks confused..) DG, still staring at her says, "No, really.... I have no idea how to answer that question. We are having lunch."

See that is where DG and I differ. I knew exactly how to answer her question.

"We are here for lunch. We will order and you will bring our prepared food. We will begin eating and you will occasionally stop by to fill our drink glasses and ask if we need anything.  We will eat and talk and we will keep eating and talking and drinking until we are finished. It might take twenty minutes or it might take an hour and a half. Pretty much you will know when we are finished because one or both of us will more than likely belch, we will leave money on the table and then we will get up and leave."

But I have a filter. So I just sat there and stayed quiet. It was a battle of wills with Chianti Girl determined to get an answer to the speed question and DG determined that Chianti Girl would resubmit her question in a form that  had some relevance to the situation. DG stared her down until Chianti Girl gave up and said, "I'll give you a few minutes and then I'll be back to take your order."

That is when it happened. Directly beside DG's side of the booth across the isle was a little cubby hole where the serving tray stands were stored. It appeared to have been built for maybe 6 stands. As a waiter flew by in the isle he tossed a tray stand toward the cubby hole. The hole already had it's allotment of 6 stands, so it just bounced off the other stands and slammed against DG seat and her side of the table. Jarring the table so badly that the contents of our drink glasses were sloshed onto the table. 

"OH HOLY HELL!!", DG yelled as she jumped sideways to try and get away.  Even if it would have saved her life she could not have gotten away. We were in a booth and the table and seat were fixed to the floor and wall. there was 14 inches of area between the table and the back rest of the seat. I measured because I could barely fit in the little space. Talk about cramped spaces. That is a pretty small space even for someone little like DG. So she was trapped which scared her almost as much as the slamming of the stand against the booth.

"We need a different table over here.", DG said in a loud voice.

There were at least three employees standing within 5 feet of her as she said it. The guy that tossed the stand wasn't one of them. He had just kept right on running down the isle. Those standing around just walked away. DG and I just stared at each other, kinda shrugged our shoulders and decided to leave. About that time a supervisor stopped by and said, "Did I hear that you need a different table?" I only assume she was a supervisor because her shirt was a different color and she wasn't carrying a bottle of Chianti.

I had already pulled out money for the drinks so we told her that we had changed our minds and we would just leave. I tossed a five on the table and we started to make our way to the door. As we passed through the crowd of people waiting to get one of the empty tables. I said loudly, "You couldn't pay me to eat here.", as I passed greeter girl. She looked after us as we went out the door and she said, "Thanks... Come back again." To which I replied, "It will probably be awhile."

I think this is the very first time we have ever walked out of a restaurant without being served.

We still needed to eat so we picked one of our old "stand-by" restaurants, "Lone Star Steak House". It is definitely not a five star establishment but it is trustworthy. It is not great but it is always good. We are partial to their dinner salads and hot rolls. The salad is served in a bowl with the best purple onion you have ever tasted. But, the high point of the salad is the Southwest or Texas Ranch dressing. The dinner rolls are steaming hot and the honey butter spread is creamy and smooth. As entrées DG goes for the Sweet Bourbon Salmon and at lunch I chose a 7oz. Ribeye. Those are our tried and true choices. Always safe. So we place our normal orders.

I guess I should say that it has been a long time since we have been to "Lone Star". And I also guess I should admit that restaurants are the same as people from your past. When you haven't been exposed to them for long periods the changes are very pronounced.

The salad arrived on a plate not in the bowl. So now I am forced to chase the tomatoes around the plate. Except... imagine that... the cherry tomatoes have been replaced by "diced-stored on the counter one day too long-tomato globules." We had to send DG's salad back because it had the wrong dressing. Not that difficult to notice the regular ranch that she received is white of course and the Southwest or Texas she ordered is pinkish red. Both salads seemed to be composed of a grassy tasting leafy plant, possibly dandelion leaves and a large quantities of lettuce stems, stalks and cores. In other words the dressing was the only thing on the plate worth eating. And the dressing was as thin as water and tasted of old vinegar. Not at all the dressing of the past.

Don't cry for me Argentina Wethersfield, Connecticut the purple onions are gone. There is not an onion in sight. I guess they are too expensive. So charge me more.

We are about finished pushing onion free salad around our plates when we decide to go for one of those hot dinner rolls and honey butter. The buns were as flat as a pancake. And filled with gooey uncooked dough. And the honey butter was cold and looked kinda splotchy like the honey was separating from the butter. We asked the waitress for a replacement basket of rolls. She asked what the problem was and we said we thought they should cook awhile longer.

The replacement basket arrived and the rolls looked great all glistening on top with oil, puffed up like a roll should be but cold as a well diggers ass inside. The honey butter was just as unappetizing this time around but we figured what the hell. If we send them back again they might come back filled with spiders or something. At least they are edible this time.

Entrées arrive.... My heart flutters and in my excitement I almost belt out "WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS" but think better of it and settle for "yeah"... you can imagine how bad this attempt at lunch has been when you realize that the simple arrival of food is taken as a great accomplishment and reason for celebration.

The first thing I noticed was that the "Ribeye" on my plate seemed a little thin. In fact it looked like one half of someone's butterflyed fillet. But at this point I am going to eat what is in front of me. It has been too long since sugar and I'm starting for feel a little woozy. DG's salmon looked good but two bites in she noticed that not only did they omit the sweet bourbon sauce, they failed to cook it thoroughly and the center of the salmon was raw. And the center of both baked potatoes were cold and the bottoms were burnt from sitting on the warmer too long.

As if by magic the waitress appeared and asked if everything was ok. DG explained that her salmon was raw. The waitress offered to have it put back on the grill. DG then explained that wouldn't really do much good because the part that was cooked tasted bad. After all it was salmon with no seasoning, no spices, and most importantly no bourbon to cover the taste that could only be equated to how the inside of a minnow bucket must taste when licked. The waitress asked if my Ribeye was ok and I said that it was fine. I hunched over my plate covering it while protecting the sides with my arms like a prisoner guarding his chow. There was no way anyone was taking this food away from me, I don't care how bat bad it tasted or how not a "Ribeye" it was. The waitress then offered to bring DG a fillet. DG accepted and she waited for the fillet to be cooked and served. I didn't wait. I wanted to finish this "not a Ribeye" and crappy potato before someone tries to take it away again.




DG's fillet arrived and low and behold it really looked like a fillet. It was even thicker than my "really not a ribeye". And it actually tasted pretty good as opposed to the liver tasting "really not a ribeye" and the sushi salmon. DG finished eating her steak and I watched and shared a bite now and then. When the waitress returned DG asked for a box so that we could take the remaining rolls home so that we could "try them hot".



I haven't mentioned this because it is really fodder for another post someday.... but.... the entire time we were trying to relax from the near death experience at Olive Garden while experiencing all these crappy food issues at Lone Star, in the booth behind DG an exhibition was going on. There was giggling, screaming, jumping on the booth seat, climbing on the booth back to peer over and stare at the top of DG head while making faces and flying acrobatics off the bench onto the floor in the path of tray carrying wait staff. No this was not a troop of Gypsies circus midgets, it was the children of the couple in the booth behind DG. I snapped some pictures of landings and bounces for your viewing pleasure.

I almost stabbed myself in the throat with a steak knife just so I could go to a quiet place.

What could go wrong indeed.....

And if by chance the parents of these little heathens have a problem with me posting their pictures on the Internet, might I suggest you take them to The Olive Garden next time.