My mother came down to spend the weekend with us. She got here Friday afternoon, and me being me, slept most of the day and most of the evening. One of my down days.
But it’s her birthday today (whoops, yesterday) and I wanted to take her out and do something with her. I’ve given up on giving her gifts. She returns them. She has a tiny apartment and doesn’t like having a lot of stuff around her. So instead of another dustcatcher that will disappear within 2 years, we got tickets to “A Christmas Story”. She’s never been to a musical before and was so excited watching the singers and dancers. I don’t think she stopped smiling the whole time. Afterward, we took her to Midtown Mario’s on Second street. We get in and are seated immediately. After a long, parched 10 minutes a troupe of busboy descend upon up and suddenly we have water, and bread and the tiniest slice of butter I’ve ever seen. So we nosh on that for a while and finally the waiter shows up to take out drink order. He brings Joe and I our cocktails, but not mom’s coffee. Throws a brief, “I’ll be right back” over his shoulder as he breezes away. Ten minutes later, mom finally get’s her coffee and we have to catch waiter before he runs off to take our order. “Fine”, he sigh’s, with a roll of the eyes. I order the fettuccine Alfredo cause that is my major weakness in restraunts. “I don’t think you want that”, the waiter states, “It takes an hour and a half to prepare.” So I changed my order to something I’m not really fond of, but will eat in a pinch, Gnocchi with Marmara. Mom ordered Lasagna and Joe ordered spaghetti and meatballs. Now I’m thinking to myself that something was really wrong when the waiter tells you that fettuccine takes longer than Lasagna, but whatever.
So they bring out our drinks and the Antipasti. Unfortunately, they had takes the bread basket, and my three requests for fresh bread fell on deaf ears.
Next course is the salad. Fresh, crispy iceberg lettuce cut into large chunks and covered with a buttermilk dressing with tons of fresh cracked pepper mixed in. I could only do about 3 bites before I was overcome by the pepper taste and passed on finishing it. Then came the ministrone. A “nice” soup. Not much texture or balance. Just a nice bowl of beige.
Now comes the hard part. Our waiter disappears, the bussers have cleaned the table like they want us gone. Not just us, several tables around us. For over 40 minutes we sat and stared at each other and waited for our dinner. No one came by and offered apologies for the wait. No one came by to see if we would care for another cocktail. Didn’t see our waiter for forty minutes. By the time it came, I was so disappointed that I was no longer hungry. Mom did what she could to eat as much as she could, and Joe ate his even though he kept saying, “not as good as yours though”, to me. Needless to say the waiter didn’t get much of a tip (enough, but not over enough). HIding doesn’t solve problems, just causes more in the end.
I’m off to sleep-bye, Nite nite. It’s 5:00 am. This sucks.