My mother wore an ivory blouse, that on me would have been a dress. It was heavily embroidered and she had purchased it from one of the fancy catalogues that she is always getting in the mail. That's right folks: retirement= catalogues.
Her slacks, a fine linen, matched perfectly. She was beautiful, as always, towering over my father, who had decided to wear a jacket for once.
Of course, this being San Diego, there is no reason to dress up: I wore jeans and a grey t-shirt. True, it WAS from Banana Republic and looked fabulous, but it was still a t-shirt.
I hurried ahead of them to get a table, since there is often competition in restaurants and I did not want to wait. I had done a big workout prior-and I was hungry.
"Three," I told the hostess, "I'm waiting for my parents. They're very old." (Well they are! Dad is 80, Mom is 79. They are starting to look very skinny and frail. It worries me.)
When we were seated, I was mesmerized by the various menus. There's a promotional menu, a regular dinner menu and a little book that has pictures of the food, by section. I immediately turned to the drinks.
There they were! Fancy little drinks with fruit! My favorite. I ordered a strawberry coconut pina colada. When it arrived I took a sip-ooh! Coconut! But then the strawberry fused into the drink and it was LOADED with corn syrup and it was awful. I tried to drink it, I did. I even ate the little pineapple garnish (because how difficult IS it to get fresh pineapple?!), but by then I had had it with the drink. It was awful. So I sent it back.
When the salads came, I noted that they looked a little fresher than the kind I'm accustomed to in chain restaurants. But only a LITTLE. This does NOT mean they were fresh! The cucumber slices were unpeeled, which I attributed to laziness, and the tomatoes were mushy. But the lettuce and red onions were good! The ranch dressing, which I had ordered on the side, less so. Next time I will NOT be getting ranch. Dreadful. The croutons were very typical and I ate them out of the salad. I prefer to eat croutons ALONE.
My mother had ordered a Maine lobster, my dad the sole, and I ordered a lobster, scallop and shrimp trio. The lobster was wood grilled-and a little salty, but good. I found that when I dipped it into my baked potato it balanced nicely. Incidentally, Red Lobster has the finest baked potatoes I have ever had-BUT they could stand to serve them with MORE sour cream. Luckily my dad gave me HIS (he's on an anti-headache diet and sour cream is forbidden!). The scallops were sweet and delicious, albeit a little lukewarm, as in, things were not properly timed and my food COULD have been hotter. But the shrimp? It was disgusting. Disgusting. It tasted like dirt.
I ordered a martini to go with my meal, but when I tasted it, it tasted as if the guy had simply just poured gin in there. It did NOT taste right. So I sent it back. Without even eating the olives, which as we all know, is the best PART of a martini.
In the end, the manageress came over and things were taken off the bill, desserts given out, etc.
Mom ordered the cheesecake. It was sublime! But I was polite and only had a wee bit. The molten chocolate chip cookie with ice cream was truly divine, but I could only eat a few bites. Dad, who is not allowed to have chocolate, got some of the vanilla ice cream after I surgically removed some of it from the chocolate sauce that was drizzled on it. But the piece de resistance was the decaf that our waitress made. It was perfect. Perfect. I told her that SHE should be the bartender. Because she should be. Anyone who can make decaf so divine should be allowed, nay ordered to make ALL the drinks in the house.
I remain,
Hilda Stinson
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