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.
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