It's Dinner and a Show (like it or not)

I have come to hate eating out.

On the road I eat out a lot. And when I don’t eat out I eat in. It’s either take-out or room service which usually isn’t any better than a Hungry Man or a cold can of pork and beans opened with a knife and wolfed hobo style. “Tonight I eat out” I thought to myself as I headed for the elevator. Still in Minneapolis and staying on the edge of down town I surfed the likely resources for recommendations. Lots of trendy restaurants screamed “eat me” through the glossy ads in the lobby magazines. Concierges and front desk people, frequent Minneapolis travelers and bellmen, like usual, all had an opinion.

“Well, what are you in the mood for?”
“Fish.” I said.
I left the hotel with recommendation in hand.

Walking to the restaurant showed promise for a good solo evening. There was thunder and lightening but no rain. The air was warm and just short of soupy. A loitering black man gave me the once-over and a sincere sing-songy “Well hellooooo glamour girl.” I felt cute.

Things were looking good until I opened the door to the hotel that housed the restaurant I was heading to. I stepped into a cavernous lobby. It reeked of leftover afternoon busyness that had quickly wound down to a low, slightly stale hum much like a school play auditorium a half hour after curtain close. There were a few souls shuffling around and a handful of bellmen playing rock-paper-scissors to see who would go home early.

I made my way up the escalator to the convention level where the “great fish place” was. As I passed through the restaurant's threshold I was hit with sensory overload; low grade shock treatment in the form of entertainment. The place was loud, with jazzy décor and jazzier hostesses wearing jazzed-up hip little fashions. The music was more in the foreground than in the background and, big surprise, it was jazz. The “great fish place” was more like and over produced cirque-du-soleil a-la-pesce con musica fantastica. Viva Minnesota you cool catz. Strangely, I decided to stay.

At the bar I was handed a menu. As I scanned it I was shocked. A seventeen-dollar glass of California chardonnay! What? Thirty-seven bucks for a grilled piece of halibut, no sides. Yeah, isn’t that fish a bottom feeder? I turned my head and watched the people around me with mounds, yes mounds, of food scattered all over their tables. And I knew what it tasted like even before I ordered it. It’s business-people food. Expense account food. It’s all over priced, over sized, over salted, over presented, over merchandised and overwhelming. I wouldn’t be able to taste it over the music and when I was done I’d feel over stuffed. Back in to my hotel room I’d be doubled over but it would be worth it as I’d be getting double United Reward points because I’d bought it with my Double Miles card and I’d be doubly happy that I’d ordered the double-decker crab ravioli with clams. Is my description excessive? Try the desert menu. I went with the mussel appetizer plate. It was fit for a sumo demi-god.

Places like the “great fish place,” (or any other expense-report restaurant) are a lot like Disneyland for adults. But, instead of candy there’s wine, instead of roller coasters there’s sexual tension with your neighboring diners, instead of paying to get in you pay to get out. In the end you just feel tired, ripped off and a little queasy. All I really want is something in earthly portions that doesn’t taste a salt-lick. And, although I hate eating out I’ll continue to do it for the sake of hunger and for the sheer joy of writing stuff like this.