Eating Out
Eating out used to be easy. You picked up the telephone and called a restaurant and made a reservation. Now, with the mega-restaurants, it has become somewhat more challenging. These chains take the attitude that their food is good, and the "folks" can just wait in line to get in. The Cheesecake Factory, Brio, Brava Cucina, Outback, think nothing of telling you that there is a 2 hour wait on a Saturday night. My wife and I have solved the problem by nurturing our inner coot-itis. Translated, we eat at 4:oo on Saturday afternoon. The wait then is usually just 15 minutes. Throw in an Early Bird special, and we are ready to retire in Miami.
But every now and then, you gotta do what you gotta do. A case in point was this past Friday night. I have been craving Chinese food for the past several weeks. In Youngstown, good Chinese food is hard to come by. That leaves the choice of doing without, or driving to The Sesame Inn in Pittsburgh, or to PF Changs in Cleveland. Of the two choices, PF Changs is the better. For those who aren't familiar with this national chain, it is the Chinese Cheesecake Factory. They are huge places serving outstanding food in a standard moo-moo manner (herd them in and herd them out).
With taste buds on the ready, we braved the 50 mile trek to Cleveland burning up that $2.50/gallon gas (my car takes premium) in search of some tasty lo mein, all the while knowing that we would arrive at the height of the Friday night dinner rush clearly violating our 4:00 rule.
The first thing one has to do when approaching these temples of mass marketed haute cuisine is to find a place to park in the "this can't live up to the zoning code parking ratio" parking lot. You drive around and around and around, and finally some folks emerge from restaurant with their doggie bags in tow, and you follow them to the parking spot. The ramming rod on your car is poised for action if anyone attempts to cut in front of you for the spot. I have used it several times.
Once safely parked, you walk through the fake dragon statuary and the two massive sets of doors only to be confronted by your next obstacle: masses of people standing around with strollers and babies either trying to get in, or get out, or just hanging around to see what's happening. I have found my sharp elbows are very helpful in maneuvering through this proletariat conglomeration. My under the breath comments also are useful. They aren't sure whether I really said "Get the hell out of my way". I did, but only with more colorful language.
Then you reach your goal, the hostess station. But it is not a hostess station. It is Normandy Beach with concrete bunkers out of which are pointed Nazi howitzers. Manning the howitzers are some barely twenty something Ta-Da girls, all looking at stacks of papers with names highlighted in pink and yellow and green. These are mean and snotty dudettes. I counted 5 of them on Friday night forming a human barricade across the border to the restaurant that would do the Minute Men Militia guarding the Rio Grande proud.
At PF Changs, there are three classes of people: those lucky enough to get one of the few reservations they allow on the weekend; those smart enough to use their "call ahead" service, which looks remarkably like a reservation; and those schmucks like me who are the dreaded "walk ins". One of the Nazi dudettes tossed her stringy hair and took my name, and barked it would be 45 minutes. 45 minutes?? Rejoice. That is within my 1 hour wait rule. Anything beyond that we drive to Corky and Lenny's down the street for Jewish deli, even if we were waiting for the Pope.
And then we waited, and waited, and waited. As the one hour mark approached, my wife snuck up behind one of the 5 dudettes staring at these papers. What ARE they looking at?? And tells them we are past the 45 minutes. The only problem was, our name was on a paper that was already completed. They said we didn't respond when our name was called. What called name?? They gave us one of those shaky, lighty, buzzy things to hold that becomes orgasmic in your hands and blinds you with the strobe when the Ta-Da girls push the button to let you know it's our turn.
But every now and then, you gotta do what you gotta do. A case in point was this past Friday night. I have been craving Chinese food for the past several weeks. In Youngstown, good Chinese food is hard to come by. That leaves the choice of doing without, or driving to The Sesame Inn in Pittsburgh, or to PF Changs in Cleveland. Of the two choices, PF Changs is the better. For those who aren't familiar with this national chain, it is the Chinese Cheesecake Factory. They are huge places serving outstanding food in a standard moo-moo manner (herd them in and herd them out).
With taste buds on the ready, we braved the 50 mile trek to Cleveland burning up that $2.50/gallon gas (my car takes premium) in search of some tasty lo mein, all the while knowing that we would arrive at the height of the Friday night dinner rush clearly violating our 4:00 rule.
The first thing one has to do when approaching these temples of mass marketed haute cuisine is to find a place to park in the "this can't live up to the zoning code parking ratio" parking lot. You drive around and around and around, and finally some folks emerge from restaurant with their doggie bags in tow, and you follow them to the parking spot. The ramming rod on your car is poised for action if anyone attempts to cut in front of you for the spot. I have used it several times.
Once safely parked, you walk through the fake dragon statuary and the two massive sets of doors only to be confronted by your next obstacle: masses of people standing around with strollers and babies either trying to get in, or get out, or just hanging around to see what's happening. I have found my sharp elbows are very helpful in maneuvering through this proletariat conglomeration. My under the breath comments also are useful. They aren't sure whether I really said "Get the hell out of my way". I did, but only with more colorful language.
Then you reach your goal, the hostess station. But it is not a hostess station. It is Normandy Beach with concrete bunkers out of which are pointed Nazi howitzers. Manning the howitzers are some barely twenty something Ta-Da girls, all looking at stacks of papers with names highlighted in pink and yellow and green. These are mean and snotty dudettes. I counted 5 of them on Friday night forming a human barricade across the border to the restaurant that would do the Minute Men Militia guarding the Rio Grande proud.
At PF Changs, there are three classes of people: those lucky enough to get one of the few reservations they allow on the weekend; those smart enough to use their "call ahead" service, which looks remarkably like a reservation; and those schmucks like me who are the dreaded "walk ins". One of the Nazi dudettes tossed her stringy hair and took my name, and barked it would be 45 minutes. 45 minutes?? Rejoice. That is within my 1 hour wait rule. Anything beyond that we drive to Corky and Lenny's down the street for Jewish deli, even if we were waiting for the Pope.
And then we waited, and waited, and waited. As the one hour mark approached, my wife snuck up behind one of the 5 dudettes staring at these papers. What ARE they looking at?? And tells them we are past the 45 minutes. The only problem was, our name was on a paper that was already completed. They said we didn't respond when our name was called. What called name?? They gave us one of those shaky, lighty, buzzy things to hold that becomes orgasmic in your hands and blinds you with the strobe when the Ta-Da girls push the button to let you know it's our turn.
Alls well that ends well. I guess they highlighted my name with the green instead of yellow highlighter. So they gave us one of the treasured booths, and we had a wonderful dinner. Was it worth the effort? Probably not, unless you really, really want Chinese. Then nothing less will do.
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