Olive to Hate the Garden

I've tried to avoid it for years, but it finally happened. I was dragged to the culinary equivalent my own personal of Hell. Even now it hurts me to even say it, but last night I ate at the Olive Garden. I don't know what I did to deserve this. I think I'm a nice guy, I live a relatively clean life, I give to charity, I don't cheat on my taxes and I try to make sure I leave the seat down. So why, why was I punished so? Why did I have to endure what truly must be the tenth circle of Dante's journey.


My day started well enough with a nice simple breakfast of peppers and eggs. It's amazing how food can bring you back. As I fried the peppers and scrambled the eggs I was immediately transported back to my grandmother's little kitchen in Belmont, The origin of some of the most amazing Italian food I've ever had. Lasagna, Canoli, and the best meatballs you've ever tasted. I still remember her teaching me to make the peppers and eggs. I remember her telling me, "You have to add just a little water to the eggs so they're fluffy, and add just a little onion to give it some extra flavor." Food doesn't have to be complicated to be good. My breakfast made me happy because in a way, I got to spend it with "Margaret" even if it was only through fond memories.


Lunch was great as well. After Deb and I hit the gym and we stopped at a local place called Fiddle Head Market which is a little co-op of different food stands including a wine and cheese shop, a butcher and a decent fish monger. I grabbed a bunch of stuff for lunch including some nice smoked salmon, mission figs, french cheese, grapes, duck trufee, and some baguettes. It was a lunch that would make and ADHD chef proud as their was no rhyme or reason to the various textures and flavors. It was all over the place, but it was delicious and fun. We sat in our kitchen listening to music and enjoyed the different tastes and flavors of our little picnic. I enjoyed it so much that I actually took a picture of it, (I take pictures of everything, don't I? )


As our day passed Deb and I went back and forth and it appeared I might actually escape the 50th Birthday party we were invited to attend at the dreaded Olive Garden. Not that I didn't want to celebrate our friend's celebration, but I couldn't bear to even think of the horrible horrors that awaited us, all under a thick layer of gooey Mozzarella cheese. I've heard that given the choice, the incarcerated inhabitants of Guantanamo Bay prefer water boarding over the Olive Garden's Chicken Picatta.





Unfortunately, plans were changed but mine remained. Although Deb told me I wouldn't have to go, I knew from experience that not going would be viewed as a lack of support and would be rewarded or more appropriately not rewarded and truth be told, I felt I should stay true my marriage vows and try to protect and keep her from harm. Unfortunately my best wishes and best efforts were not sufficient to keep Deb's taste buds from being violently assaulted. She may be Irish, but she has good taste (Okay, maybe not in men, but nobody's perfect.)


We drove to the stretch of land that now is represented in every major suburb throughout our once diverse and local offerings. You know what I'm talking about. Go anywhere and you'll see that stretch with the Home Depot, The Best Buy, Kohls,and all of the other places that litter our newspapers, Internet and television. They're all there. The Outback, home of steaks and the Awesome Blossom, (Their steaks taste more like awesome possum.) The Chili's which believe it or not, doesn't have chili on the menu. Fridays? TGI "F" that place. It stinks. "


When we got to the "Garden" I couldn't believe how packed the parking lot was. We circled the lot looking for a space and when we got toward the far back lot we spotted two young guys standing by their vehicle. I rolled down my window and asked, "Are you guys leaving?" They said no, they were just having a smoke while waiting for their table. I inquired why they would eat at such a place? They looked confused and Deb quickly drove away before they could answer.


The place was absolutely packed which supports my theory and response to those people who claim that if Pizzeria Regnia's Santarpios, or anyone of the other "hole-in-the-wall" places that if relocated or expanded to NH, they'd make a killing. The people up here don't know any better. They don't want good pizza. They want the "cheese in the crust" offerings of Dominos. They don't mind an Italian sub being made from Danish ham, Greek Olives, and jalapenos. Look, New Hampshire is a lovely place to live, the people are amazing, and I get the whole "Live Free or Die" thing, but if I didn't still occasionally get a taste of decent bread and pizza, I'd choose the latter.


We waited close to an hour for our table even though we were a larger party with a reservation (at least I think we had one.) Once seated and hydrated, the food started coming. This is where our night took an unpleasant turn. Ask anyone who loves the Olive Garden why they like it so much. They'll respond, "The salad and the bread sticks are awesome!" Okay, I'll concede that the salad is a fine mix of greens and vegetables with a pleasant Italian style dressing, but the bread sticks are a few steps below Pilsbury and lack any real flavor, texture or body. In terms of flavor, they're more stick than bread.


Looking at the menu, I was temporarily encouraged as I read that all of the meals were prepared to order. I think this must be a loose term because the food was horrendous, and if You go to McDonald's and ask for a #2 with no ketchup, I guess technically your food was cooked to order as well.


When I got my risotto, I was horrified. I immediately demanded to see the warden, but I was encouraged that I could utilize any leftovers to Spackle a few rough spots in the house. Deb got seafood Alfredo that looked like the noodles were cooked in the same waters where the Exxon Valdez spilled all that oil. It didn't look creamy. It didn't look rich. It looked, well...wrong, and it tasted much like it looked. Remember that kid in 3rd grade that had a taste for eating paste and play do? He's the head chef and food consultant for Olive Garden.


As I'm writing this post, I'm simmering the Sunday Gravy. I guess it's kind of like when you fall off the horse you get right back up on it. I just want to have some decent Italian food. By the way. When the OG chefs fall off of the horse, they turn it into cutlets, bread them and and make it one of the specials.

Look, if you like the Olive Garden, good for you. But I'm never eating there again. My kids have never seen jarred spaghetti sauce in our house and I intend to keep it that way. I may not be 100% Italian and you may not hear me discussing politics or even fighting for my convictions, but I'm holding on to this one piece of culture. My integrity goes only so far though. Seeing how many people frequent the place; I may not want to eat there, but I'd be happy to own one.

Flu Flu Platter for Two

Just a quick note to thank the Portsmouth dining establishment for their heightened awareness during the current H1N1 outbreak.

A friend of mine and I stopped at this usually clean establishment for a sushi lunch. The restaurant was fairly crowded as it's Friday and people are in a more casual frame of mind. A woman whom I often see there and assume is the owner or manager was standing in the middle of the crowded dining room. She saw us as we came in but quickly turned away and sneezed into her upper arm. My friend said in his best Rain Man impersonation, "Oh, oh!" She then motioned to us and said, "two for lunch?" then she motioned to a table in the center of the dining room, turned away and sneezed into her hands. My friend once again mumbled, "Oh, oh." Then without breaking her momentum picked up two menus and placed them on our table table. I giggled, but my buddy looked a bit freaked out. I didn't think it was a big deal as I didn't need a menu anyway. My opinion was quickly changed when she immediately reappeared and handed me my napkin and silverware. We both started laughing and quickly left the restaurant.

I'm not generally queasy about this types of thing, but if the leadership of the place is that careless, what about the underling who is handling my raw fish and seaweed? Is wasabi paste a disinfectant?

Masters of War - Viewer Discretion Advised

Deb and I have always tried to balance what our kids were exposed to in terms of the media, especially when it comes to sexually explicit or violent programming. We're not too different than many other parents, although I've always found it interesting to hear or see what other parents' threshold is. A good example of this is when Zachary had a few friends from the neighborhood sleep over. The three brothers were all relatively close in age and they used to run around our neighborhood in the heat of the summer dressed home made superhero costumes constructed entirely out of felt. I used to refer to the two older brothers as "Feltman and Ribbon."

We didn't know the parents particularly well at the time and when the mother dropped her kids off she said, "I know your son is really into Godzilla right now. I'd prefer it if you didn't show any of those movies while my boys are here. I sent them with a movie that's more appropriate for their age." Being a parent, I could certainly understand her wishes and I certainly respected them. I could defintely see th elong term damage that could be caused by exposing her kiddies to the guy in the rubber monster suit stepping on a paper paper mache model of Tokyo. I was, however perplexed by the movie she sent with her Caped Crusaders. Did she send over Thomas the Tank Engine, the Wizard of Oz, or a Sesame Street Compilation? No; she sent the Karate Kid. A movie where the main characters kick the living crap out of each other. I was particularly impressed by the scene of the kid smoking dope in the boys room. now it was clear why her boys were always painting the fence and waxing on and off and sanding the floor with each other.

A few things made me think of this contradiction. The first was my experience at the Bob Dylan Show I attended Friday night. The show took place at the beautifully designed but terribly named "Wang Center" (there's a ton of jokes I could stick in here, but it's just too easy and I'm sure you can think of your own.) Anyway, I had the good fortune of being relatively close to the stage and I was horrified to see the aged hippies trying to capture a small piece of their days of peace and love all the while being almost violently corralled back to their seats by the Nazi like security down front. They repeatedly wabbled out of their seats and wondered toward the stage only to be screamed at by the part time security team. Quite honestly the groovy and mellow character of these characters seems to have disappeared with age, this represented by the guy two seats over from me who was asked to sit down by the tie died gent just behind him. While "Bobby Mumbles" was singing about "the Answer Blowing in the Wind", this guy was blowing on the middle finger he was pointing at his neighbor.

The other thing occurred last night while I was at the gym. If your health club is like mine or the many others that are avoided by our obese society, the cardio room has an entire bank of flat screen televisions with various programming. The television directly in front of was showing CNN and had a story of the Tennessee Titans owner Bud Adams who was exchanging unpleasantries with a group of Buffalo Bills fans. I'm sure these two sides were intelligently debating the pros and cons of the current health care bill and the economic consequences of passing it or not. At one point in the exchange Mr. Adams was expressing himself by thrusting each of his middle fingers toward the group. The interesting thing is that the grainy video that accompanied the story, Mr. Adams' fingers were digitally blocked so any viewers wouldn't be offended, especially young kids, which seems appropriate when you think of all of the 7 year olds who love to relax with CNN just before bed time. I chuckled at the image and then glanced at the television to my right which was showing CBS and what I believe was one of the thousand or so CSI shows. At the moment I was watching the opening scene showed a bloody gun battle, digitally enhanced explosions, wounded and dead everywhere.

Is what we see on television a true reflection of our hypocritical values? They could be. I've seen Zach rough house with his friends and I've caught them using foul language. He's certainly broken more things around the house than I care to mention, and each time he was reprimanded accordingly, but if he ever gave me the finger, he'd be in real trouble.

U2 can call me a goofball.

It's been far too long since I've posted anything and I'm not sure what to attribute it to? How does someone who does not write claim to have writer's block? Things have been incredibly busy and much has happened since I last logged into this site. Let's see if we can get the creative juices flowing by catching up with a number of quick hits:

U2 Squared - Yes, I've maintained my idiotic passion of seeing U2 every time they roll into town. On night one, I went with Vanessa and our neighbors and friend Mark and daughter Noa. We drove down early and waited in the general admission line for what seemed to be hours, which it was. We were rewarded with a close vantage point about 15 feet from the stage. To my wife I stayed true to my word and closely kept an eye on Vanessa in the General Admission Sea of people. Of course, one "Bono Head" did manage to spill an entire beer on my 15 year old daughter. I was wandering around with my camera at the time. Nice Job!

On night 2 I knew better where to go and once we were through security I pointed to my friend Jennifer and said, "run!" Knowing where to go, we ran past the other middle aged concert goers and cleared a path literally ending up in the very front leaning on the barricade next to the stage. It's an interesting and cool thing to have 60,000 people standing behind you. The crappy thing is that when the show is over, there's 60,000 people that will be in the parking lot before you.

All in all the band delivered and the shows proved to be right up there with the other 23 times I've seen these non island owning rockers. It started 26 years ago at the Orpheum Theater where Deb and I first saw them. No, we weren't seeing each other at the time and as a matter of fact we didn't even know each other. She was only thirteen, it was her first concert and she takes great pride in the fact that she had better seats than I did.