Marilynne's World

I love to eat out

I like my food fresh

It’s not a secret that I love to eat out.  I hate to cook, so one logically follows the other, doesn’t it?  So, I know a bit about restaurants.  Today I want to talk about two restaurants, both owned by chains, and both visited by me recently.

Macaroni Grill

Our granddaughter and her boyfriend came to visit last Saturday.  Ever since she came to our town to go to college, when she visits, we also take her out to dinner.  So Saturday was same ol’, same ol’ with one exception.  We decided to try a new restaurant and settled on the Macaroni Grill.

It’s kind of a silly name for a restaurant that tries to take itself seriously, isn’t it.  That’s the name of it and it serves pasta in many forms.  (They ought to make a deep fried pasta and ice cream dessert to go with your pasta dinner, don’t you think?)  On Saturday nights most restaurants are busy so we decided to go around six o’clock hoping to miss some of the crowd.

We knew we were in trouble when we pulled into the parking lot.  This area has several very popular restaurants and the parking is inadequate on Saturday night.  I was in luck as my husband unloaded us at the front door and went to look for parking.

The three of us went inside, brushing past a jillion people on our way to the sign-in desk.  Because of the crowd at this early hour, I asked how long the wait was.  The girl who took our name said it would be 35 to 40 minutes.  We discussed it and decided to stay.  We received our square space ship with the red lights you hope will begin blinking soon.

I have a problem that I share with many older people.  I have diabetes.  I need to eat at a certain time, I need to eat the right things, and I need to time my medication to be a certain amount of time before my meal.  Because it was Saturday night, I carried my medication with me, but often I just take it before I go out the door and I’m good if we’re seated right away.  On this occasion, if I hadn’t brought my medication with me, I would have had to leave and go to a fast food restaurant.  I know, this is my problem, but what happened after we put in our reservation didn’t help things.

So, now we wait.  People continue to crowd in.  We are standing by the door, alternately cold and warm.  A few people leave.  A lot of people come in.  You’ve been there.

I give in and go find a bench to sit on.  From this position I can see the keeper of the list and I can see into the restaurant.  I watch a great many people go into the restaurant.  I watch inside the restaurant as they re-set the tables so fast that one group has hardly left before the next group is seated.  And the list keeper is continuously sending people into the restaurant.  Surely it won’t be too long of a wait.

But I’m hungry and I am tired of sitting so I go to ask how soon our number will come up.  She says five groups are ahead of us.  I tell this to the rest of our group who then inform me we’ve already been waiting an hour.  I go back to my bench and wait.

That all sounds pretty usual, doesn’t it?

It’s prom night somewhere, and soon little girls in pretty grown-up dresses are coming in in droves, corsage bracelets on their wrists, their hair done up special, giggling and self-conscious in their pretty dresses.  They are seated immediately.  I assume they are going to a party room or something, but no, I’m wrong.  Most of them are being seated with the general population.

I begin to count people being seated.  I passed the given number of five and begin to wonder what’s going on?  I tell our group what I’ve seen and my granddaughter tells me that she’s seen them seating parties of four like us who came in after us.  I am ticked.  I’m tired.  I’m hungry and I don’t like this game they’re playing.  I resort to playing dirty.  I stand right by the desk watching the girl’s every move.  She eventually gets the idea and we are seated.

Switch scenes.   Fade out from the crowded entry and fade in to a quiet restaurant, candles, quiet talk.  We are seated at a table for four that has a thick white table cloth on it.  On top of that are several sheets of butcher paper and some crayons.  Are we being seated at the kid’s table?  Apparently not, because my granddaughter and her boyfriend promptly begin drawing pictures on their side of the paper.

The waitress comes with four wine glasses and a bottle of Chianti.  After checking IDs she pours a little in each glass and explains that this is complimentary, but she’s leaving the bottle on the table for us.  She says we’re on the honor system and we will have to pay for the wine if we take more.

By now I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve ended up in the zoo.  Do people really cover their nice white tablecloths with butcher paper and then proceed to color on it?  Do waitresses usually take the crayon and write their name on the paper?

Am I being insulted by being given a 1/4 cup of wine for free in the hopes that I’ll pour more from the bottle and pay for it?  I’m not sure what’s going on.  I’m getting a lot of mixed messages.  Pretty girls in party dresses and crayons on the table, wine for some, some free and some to buy, pasta served as something special instead of an every day kind of food.

In truth I am too hungry to care by this time.  I simply want to eat.  Eventually the waitress brings a small loaf of exquisite bread for the four of us to share.  I could eat it all by myself, but I am expected to share it.  Not only that, but apparently part of the “dining experience” is for all of us to dip our bread in a common puddle of olive oil and black pepper before eating it. I have never cared for putting oil on my bread.  In my mind it’s like spreading your bread with bacon grease because you’re hungry, it’s filling, and you are too poor to eat anything else.

Finally our food comes.  I have correctly guessed how long it would take them to serve our meal after getting the order.  In my semi-starved state, the overly rich food is not much to my liking and I end up bringing half of it home.  We order a dessert to split and are served a beautiful arrangement of four or five tiny (3/4 x 1 1/2 inches) slices of lemon cake and a strawberry.  Neither of us is going to gain any weight from eating it.  My husband’s wallet is lighter too.

Do they really think I’m coming back?  Not me.  When I go to a hamburger joint they know what kind of a restaurant they are and act accordingly.  I’ve never before waited an hour for a meal that was so disappointing.

iHOP

I don’t go to iHOP often because I think of it as a place that takes perfectly good food and then stuffs it full to the brim with sugar and butter.  I think they have chemists busy trying to find more ways to make things sweet.  Their french toast stuffed with cream cheese and pie filling makes me gag just to think about it.

But the morning after our Macaroni Grill experience we go out to iHOP for Sunday breakfast .  I love this tradition, and was willing to give iHOP a try.  After the previous evening’s dinner it couldn’t be a lot worse.

Parking is easy and we are seated immediately.  They have seated all of the small wiggly children in an area by themselves and we can eat in adult comfort.  When I picked up the menu, I was prepared to spend some time figuring out what it is I can eat without sending myself into a sugar coma.  (Yes, you’re right, I knew it when I walked into the restaurant.  However, many diabetics have a deep longing to just eat what they want like everyone else.  They want, for an hour or so, to forget they are supposed to count every carb that goes into their mouth and medicate accordingly.  That’s just how it is.)

I notice that iHOP has begun putting a calorie count under each item.  Some nutritional information is also included.  I have all the information I need to make an informed choice.  I cannot flub up and convince myself that a piece of stuffed french toast has no more calories than a bowl of fruit.  I am delighted to see that they don’t apologize for it.  You can eat what you want, and if you want to know the calorie cost – well, it’s sitting right there for you.  I like that.  I like it a lot.

By the time I get to the back of the menu, I find, not a senior menu, but a Just For Me menu of lighter versions of their popular foods.  Again, the nutrition details are all there.  I make an informed choice.

My pancakes come with sugar-free syrup.  I didn’t have to ask for it.  My harvest grain pancakes are chock full of blue berries and the whole thing is topped with sliced bananas.  I am in heaven.  It is delicious!  I can eat it all, and I do.  This is a breakfast I can eat with pleasure.  I don’t have to plead with the waitress not to put the butter and syrup on my pancakes for me (It has happened in this very restaurant), I have a little tub of butter and it’s for me to decide whether or not I want to use it.

Why I will return to one restaurant and not to the other

So, I left iHOP a happy woman.  What do I see as the difference?  Well iHOP has asked its corporate self what it can do to make more of its customers happy.  For me, it worked.  For you?  Well you might not want to know that your selection has a mere 1800 calories, but that information is there for you.  You won’t really be less happy knowing.

Macaroni Grill is kind of arrogant.  It sends out mixed messages.  It can’t decide if it’s a humble Italian pasta restaurant or a dining experience with linens and candles and exquisitely prepared food.  (Truthfully, I can’t decide what it’s trying to be either.)  Judging from the cattle pen where we waited to be seated, and the unfairness of the girl doing the seating, they don’t seem to care how I feel before I sit down at the table.  All that came before we were seated affected how we all felt about the meal.  It was money and time wasted and we won’t forget soon.  I don’t think we’ll be back.

Marilynne