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I realized
that I was in trouble when it became evident that the waiter was
not going to hand me a children’s menu for the kids. We had just
spent a very full day exploring Washington D.C. and I just
wanted to give them, and me, a decent meal at a decent
restaurant. We had eaten a very quick and not very good
breakfast on the run and ate our lunch at a museum cafeteria.
So, at around 5 pm, we were back at our hotel. The kids were
resting and I was flipping through our D.C. Guidebook looking
for a restaurant near a metro stop, since I knew it would be
dark by the time we were done and I wasn’t very familiar with
the city. The guidebook categorized the restaurants by price,
with a single little dollar sign next to the name of the most
inexpensive places and 4 little dollar signs next to the name of
the most expensive places. I found a nice sounding national
chain restaurant with 2 (out of 4) little dollar signs next to
its name and off we went.
After a long
ride on the metro, we found ourselves downtown and just across
the street from our restaurant, which itself was in a hotel.
So, we went inside and then up the stairs and then through the
door leading to the national chain restaurant with 2 (out of 4)
little dollar signs next to its name and told the nice lady
behind the desk that we were there for dinner. She smiled
sweetly at the kids and without missing a beat, took my name and
told me it would be just a few moments. Those few moments gave
me the opportunity to look around, evaluate the situation and
make the first of several bad decisions that I was to make that
evening. I noticed that my three kids and I were the only ones
in the room wearing shorts and t-shirts. I guess it is possible
that the other patrons actually were wearing shorts and t-shirts
under their suits and tuxedos, but I had no socially acceptable
way to verify that. I asked the nice lady behind the desk if we
were under dressed and she told me everything was fine, so we
stayed. Bad decision #1 – not leaving. Soon enough, someone
came over to lead us to our table and asked if we wanted to sit
inside or out on the balcony. Cool, I though,
everyone with kids would be out on the balcony.
“Balcony,
please” I said.
“Very good,
Sir”
And then he
disappeared.
So we stood,
and waited
And waited
And waited
We waited
well past the point at which I began to think we should have
followed him in the first place, but I couldn’t find him
anywhere and I didn’t want to just wander around the restaurant
like a lost tourist looking for him, so we waited some more.
Eventually, our guide came back to fetch us. I asked him if we
should have followed him and he said, “Yes” and then he
apologized and I apologized and everyone was generally very
sorry for the mix-up as he led us to our table. He kept looking
back at us to make sure we hadn’t wandered off. I, on the other
hand, was looking for any other children in the place and not
finding any. I’m pretty sure that Sara, my 6 year old, was at
least 5 times younger than anyone else at any other table.
Combine that with the glaring lack of any children’s menus and
we reach the point I previously mentioned at which I realized
that I was in trouble. Bad decision #2 – not leaving (again).
Actually, I
would have felt pretty silly leaving at that point because now
we were sipping Coke and Sprite out of wine glasses and picking
apart a giant loaf of roasted onion bread. Also, it had been a
long time since I had the chance to have a meal at a place like
this. Before my wife and I had kids, we really couldn’t afford
it and now that we have kids, we stick to relatively
inexpensive, kid-friendly joints. This time I was on a mini
vacation with our 3 oldest children who are mature enough to
handle a place with 2 –should be 3 or 4 (out of 4) little dollar
signs next to its name. I decided (bad decision #3) that we
would stay and have our dinner and enjoy it. I would just have
to find less expensive things to feed the kids.
They all
demanded steak.
It was a
steakhouse, after all, and since we weren’t leaving anyway, I
looked through the (one page) menu to find the best steak to
order for them. When I say, “Steak”, I mean just steak. Not
“Steak with two vegetables and a salad.” Just a steak.
Individually priced. They were 1/5 the size of the little
guidebook I had found this restaurant in and cost three times as
much. So I told our frightened looking waiter, who had probably
never seen children in his workplace before, that we wanted four
of the most inexpensive (Ha!) steaks on the menu, a shrimp
cocktail for an appetizer and two orders of potato skins for us
to share. When he delivered the shrimp cocktail, I saw four of
the largest shrimp I’d ever seen. They were so big that Sara
held hers by the ends and ate it like an ear of corn. The kids
enjoyed the shrimp and bread and then announced that they were
full.
Well, too
bad, because here came the steak and potato skins.
Potato
Skins
That’s it.
They were empty potato skins. These were not twice-baked
potatoes or potato skins stuffed with a bunch of other
ingredients. What a rip-off! I had expected the “stuffed” part
of it to be understood. Maybe high-class places like this
didn’t like to use a word like “stuffed” on their menu. They
had to be stuffed, right? Who would order empty potato
skins? Well, me, apparently, ‘cause here they were. I was
paying a small fortune for scraped out potatoes that the kids
wouldn’t touch and I was determined to choke them down with a
smile on my face. I would just pretend that it’s the way I like
them. By that time, I had abandoned the idea of having a nice
meal and decided to just try to get through this experience
without looking like an idiot. And I didn’t look like an idiot
right up until the waiter returned with a tray full of sour
cream, cheese, bacon and chives to put in my now half eaten
potato skins. I’m sure he saw the surprised look on my face as
he waited for me to swallow my mouthful of potato skin and tell
him to go ahead and fill up what was left. Hey, I was paying
for that stuff, too.
The tiny
steaks were very good and were so tender that the children could
cut them up on their own, so they enjoyed doing that. The food
was good, but the service was impeccable. Everything was done
promptly and efficiently (well, maybe except for the potato skin
thing) and they even gave us new wine glasses full of soda when
our ice had melted too much. We had four different people come
over to our table and ask how everything was. I think they just
couldn’t believe we were still there. I guess they were
expecting me to ask directions to Denny’s, and they must have
noticed 8-year-old John putting pepper into his Sprite and
12-year-old Katie picking roasted onions out of the bread.
We enjoyed
our meals and did NOT order dessert (first good decision of the
night) and the frightened waiter brought me the check. I knew
pretty much what to expect, but it was still shocking to see it
written down and totaled up like that, with a big circle around
the amount. By that time, my focus had shifted again and I no
longer even cared if I looked like an idiot. I just wanted to
make sure I had enough room on my credit card to pay for both
the meal we just had and the hotel room we were going back to.
Now I just wanted to get out of town without being accused of
felony credit fraud. I paid our bill and we made our way out of
the restaurant past the nice lady behind the desk who I now
believed to be inherently evil for assuming that I knew what I
was doing when I walked in there and not warning me about the
complete lack of children’s menus. We walked across the street
to the metro station where I almost had to be physically
restrained when all three of the children asked if they could
buy candy from the vending machine.
“But we’re
hungry” they pleaded.
I knew I was
losing my mind as a father when feeding them Hershey bars for
dinner began sounding like a pretty good idea.
The next
time I’m in Washington D.C., I may walk past the restaurant
(walk past, not go in) and look up at the table in the corner of
the balcony and remember that meal with my kids and wonder if
the people up there knew what they were in for when they sat
down. I’ll wonder if they like pepper in their Sprite, roasted
onions in their bread and if they’ll eat their shrimp like corn
on the cob. I’ll wonder if they have enough sense to wait for
the potato stuffing to show up. I guess they probably do and to
them the whole thing is just another line on their expense
account. Looking back on it, maybe my decisions weren’t so bad
after all. I got more than a meal. I got an unforgettable
evening with my kids that was worth (almost) every penny.
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Thanks,
John
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