The contradiction of our lives right now is that while my career is floundering, the boyfriend's is flourishing. So much so that we find ourselves able to indulge in the occasional evening out for dinner. And the other night we decided to try one of Bako's best Italian restaurants...
Ramano's Macaroni Grill.
Perhaps you've heard of them. They're in all the finest malls.
We were shown to our booth, the table covered with fresh white butcher paper. There was a jar of crayons on the table, for the kids. Seated nearby was one of the local anchormen - nobody mentioned this was a celebrity hangout.
Our waiter, Steve, arrived and introduced himself by gabbling a crayon and signing his name on the table with a grand flourish I found suspect. But what do I know - my gaydar has been offline for so long it was probably nothing. He asked for our drink order and we threw caution to the wind and ordered Stoli on the rocks. What the hell. The boyfriend asked if perhaps we could get onions instead of olives and the request seemed to throw Steve for a loop. After a very pregnant pause he said "sure" and said he could get them from the kitchen. Evidently he was unfamiliar with cocktail onions. Luckily the boyfriend realized where this was heading and stopped him and said that the olives would be fine after all.
He returned with our drinks and was ready to take our dinner order and it was then that the boyfriend asked perhaps the stupidest question I've ever heard...
"Is the ravioli made fresh?"
Are you kidding me? Do you know where we are? Look around!
The question seemed to stump Steve. I get the feeling Steve is stumped a lot of the time. But then he answered with a blast of refreshing honesty.
"The pasta comes frozen from corporate, like the sauces. We just thaw it here."
Good to know.
The boyfriend passed on the ravioli, choosing Fettuccine Alfredo instead. I went for the Penne "Rustica". The food arrived and looked delicious.
Looked.
It didn't take long to discover the flaws of corporate frozen cookery. Evidently "corporate's" idea of Alfredo sauce involved heavy use of Elmer's glue. Within a few minutes it had set up so hard the boyfriend couldn't even pry off a fork full. And I discovered that "Rustica" is Italian for "Thousand Island dressing". Luckily we had filled up on bread, which was probably frozen as well, and decided to throw in the towel and ask for the check.
Steve seemed disappointed. He brought us to-go containers without us asking, assuming I guess that we'd eat the leftovers later. That wasn't happening. I felt like we had let him down so we dutifully went through the motions of packing it up. We tossed it when we got home.
With our newfound disposable income, I think we're going to have to do a little more due diligence before choosing our dining destinations. A good rule of thumb is probably to avoid the restaurants that ring the Home Depot parking lot.
