You know how you have to roll down your window to unlock your door, and you forget every time? Oh, you don't? Oh. Ok.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
At the Diner on the Corner...
I'll say straightaway, I am a terrible restaurant patron. I am the customer who asks for what is not on the menu, then asks the waiter/waitress to hold the (insert 3 to 5 ingredients here) and put the (1 to 2 ingredients) on the side. I like eating only when things are just so, both food things and environment things. I have a lot of, um, peculiarities about food and if I don't enjoy my meal I DO NOT enjoy it. It's wonderful or terrible and no in between. I often end up getting the same thing every time from a certain restaurant because I know I will like it and when I experiment I am too likely to meet with disaster.
Eric and I love to take the boys out for dinner. That adds another level of challenge to any dining experience. Indeed. So this evening we walked over to a little Mexican restaurant that opened up last year just a few blocks from our house. (Short story long, a few years ago we saw some primping and goings-on happening a few blocks from our house on the street where there are many little shops. We thought it was going to be a little independent coffee shop. We were SOOOOO Extremely Excited (aside, I HATE when people say ginormous, yet I have no problem with myself writing SOOOOO.) It was even called something like Boulevard Cafe. I had visions of my true love, The Grind in Lincoln Square, once again located near to my home. Turns out it was an Eastern European white tablecloth restaurant. Bleh. If they would have asked me I would have told them sincerely there's no way that's working, don't even try, no one likes that sort of place. I was right. It closed.
Then lo and behold we got a fun, colorful, good tequila Mexican restaurant. So that's great. Like I said, I'm a weird eater and Mexican is not my favorite, but if I can pick and choose what my meal consists of then I can definitely enjoy Mexican food. Ok, so back to tonight. I asked for a meal they don't really have. I tweaked a menu item and the waitress said they could do it. The Big Clue this meal was not going to work out - there are five of us, one of her, and SHE DIDN'T USE A PEN AND PAPER. She was going to remember everything we said. I felt a tad concerned that on the list of ingredients for my food the only thing I had to say I didn't want was sour cream. Mustn't there be cheese too? But it wasn't listed on the menu and I was sure she'd have enough trouble remembering the whole order anyway so I didn't want to confuse her by verifying the ingredients. The boys are well behaved. The food comes. I see a solid ten minutes where I could eat my food in relative peace and drink ice cold water out of a thick, beautiful, iridescent blue glass. I cut open my dish. It is swimming in sour cream.
By the time the new food comes it's time to leave and I have to take it to go. It is not anywhere as good eating it at the dining room table. The thrill is gone. The moment has passed. My first world problem of the day, now here before you as a sorrowful, pathetic lament.
Oh, but in good news I have a patron at work who tells me I look like Laura San Giacomo. I used to hear that closer to the days when Just Shoot Me was on, but haven't heard it in a long time. I'll admit, it endeared me to him. Well that and the fact that he smiles and is nice and doesn't yell at me (it happens more than you would think, especially during tax season.) So today I had my hair up in a ponytail and he came up to the desk and said, "Well jeez, now you look like you're twelve years old." So silver lining, right?
Eric and I love to take the boys out for dinner. That adds another level of challenge to any dining experience. Indeed. So this evening we walked over to a little Mexican restaurant that opened up last year just a few blocks from our house. (Short story long, a few years ago we saw some primping and goings-on happening a few blocks from our house on the street where there are many little shops. We thought it was going to be a little independent coffee shop. We were SOOOOO Extremely Excited (aside, I HATE when people say ginormous, yet I have no problem with myself writing SOOOOO.) It was even called something like Boulevard Cafe. I had visions of my true love, The Grind in Lincoln Square, once again located near to my home. Turns out it was an Eastern European white tablecloth restaurant. Bleh. If they would have asked me I would have told them sincerely there's no way that's working, don't even try, no one likes that sort of place. I was right. It closed.
Then lo and behold we got a fun, colorful, good tequila Mexican restaurant. So that's great. Like I said, I'm a weird eater and Mexican is not my favorite, but if I can pick and choose what my meal consists of then I can definitely enjoy Mexican food. Ok, so back to tonight. I asked for a meal they don't really have. I tweaked a menu item and the waitress said they could do it. The Big Clue this meal was not going to work out - there are five of us, one of her, and SHE DIDN'T USE A PEN AND PAPER. She was going to remember everything we said. I felt a tad concerned that on the list of ingredients for my food the only thing I had to say I didn't want was sour cream. Mustn't there be cheese too? But it wasn't listed on the menu and I was sure she'd have enough trouble remembering the whole order anyway so I didn't want to confuse her by verifying the ingredients. The boys are well behaved. The food comes. I see a solid ten minutes where I could eat my food in relative peace and drink ice cold water out of a thick, beautiful, iridescent blue glass. I cut open my dish. It is swimming in sour cream.
By the time the new food comes it's time to leave and I have to take it to go. It is not anywhere as good eating it at the dining room table. The thrill is gone. The moment has passed. My first world problem of the day, now here before you as a sorrowful, pathetic lament.
Oh, but in good news I have a patron at work who tells me I look like Laura San Giacomo. I used to hear that closer to the days when Just Shoot Me was on, but haven't heard it in a long time. I'll admit, it endeared me to him. Well that and the fact that he smiles and is nice and doesn't yell at me (it happens more than you would think, especially during tax season.) So today I had my hair up in a ponytail and he came up to the desk and said, "Well jeez, now you look like you're twelve years old." So silver lining, right?
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