Mrs. P's cousins —
Juniper and Veronica — came in for a visit. After a long drive, they finally arrived in Philadelphia and asked if we'd like to meet them for dinner. Of course we said we'd love to. They spotted an Olive Garden across the street from their hotel and decided we'd meet there.
Before I continue, let's get all of our Olive Garden jokes out of the way.
America is home to the strange phenomena of "casual dining chain restaurants." You know what I'm talking about. Places like Applebee's and Red Lobster (Seafood Applebee's), Outback Steakhouse (Australian Applebee's), On The Border (Mexican Applebee's), Texas Roadhouse (Barbecue Applebee's), Buffalo Wild Wings (Chicken Applebee's), Cracker Barrel (Redneck Applebee's with bonus hillbilly yard sale) and, of course, Olive Garden (Italian Applebee's).
In the early 2000s, E! Entertainment, the pop culture cable network, ran a reality series called
The Girls Next Door that centered around then-79 year-old
Playboy Magazine publisher Hugh Hefner and the bevy of cookie-cutter young ladies that shared his life and home — the notorious Playboy Mansion. I was not an avid viewer of the show, but, when there was nothing else on, I would sometimes stop on it while I perused my options up and down the dial. The show was always good for a laugh, mostly at the expense of "the girls." Most (if not
all) of the humor played on the young ladies' naivete and their perceived (whether scripted or not) lack of intelligence and self-awareness. One particular episode focused on a meeting in Las Vegas with Italian fashion designer Roberto Cavalli, who was contracted by Hefner to design a new take on the iconic Playboy Bunny costume. At a large table in a restaurant at the Palms Resort, Hefner introduced Cavalli to a few of the "girls" who had travelled to Sin City with him. When the "girls" found out that Cavalli was actually from Italy, they began to give him passionate recommendations for places to eat while in town. One of the girls — maybe Holly, maybe Kendra — gushed about Olive Garden. She told him "If you are looking for
authentic Italian food that will make you feel like you are at home in Italy, you will
love Olive Garden. The food and the atmosphere are
just like being in Italy!" The Italian-born designer cocked his head to one side. All expression fell from his face and, I believe, his jaw nearly smacked the table. He said nothing. No response. Then turned his attention back to Hefner and his costume designs.
Now, where was I....?
I have only eaten in an Olive Garden three times. The first time was over
thirty years ago and I can say there was nothing memorable about it. Aside from my wife, I don't remember who I was with or what the occasion was. (I'm sure we didn't
"just decide" to go to Olive Garden. I don't remember what I ate, how it was, how much it cost...
nothing. It was as though it never happened. The second time I ate in Olive Garden was maybe
twenty years ago. The first time must have
really made an impression on me to get me to return a
decade later. Once again, my second visit was a completely forgettable experience. The
third time I ate at an Olive Garden was last night. I'm pretty sure it was the same location as my first visit. According to the official Olive Garden website, the chain operates 956 restaurants. They all look
nearly identical, so maybe it
was a
different location. Kind of like that
clone episode of
The Flintstones. So...who knows? And, honestly, what difference does it make? It's a chain restaurant and they
strive to be all the same.
Juniper and Veronica were already inside, waiting for their names to be announced as the next to be seated for dinner. Considering it was 7:30 in the evening, the place was still fairly crowded. Mrs. P chatted with her cousins and I sat quietly. Actually, I assessed my surroundings and secretly hoped for an incident or other out-of-the-ordinary experience to get the basis for a good blog post. If I couldn't get that, I would settle for horrible food, a surly waiter, a wrong order or something along those lines. Anything along those lines!
Everyone knows about Olive Garden's reputation. Everyone except for those who
frequent Olive Garden regularly and rank it high on their list of "fine dining establishments." (
"Olive Garden? Oh, we only go there for special occasions! We took Grandma there for her 101st birthday!") Everyone knows that Olive Garden's offerings of Italian cuisine are akin to a native Mexican not being able to identify a single entry on the Taco Bell menu. But for some people — a
lot of people, as a matter of fact — Olive Garden is a
nice place to get a close approximation of Italian food for a reasonable price. Educated palates,
be damned! My palate wants all-you-can-eat breadsticks and endless salad. Oh, and it also wants the waiter to grind a fresh block of Kraft parmesan cheese on my
pisghettis.
Olive Garden's menu includes everything you'd
expect a chain Italian restaurant to serve. Everything is in English. Everything is familiar. Most every sauce is red, except for that exotic
Alfredo sauce.... whoever
he is! There is plenty of "fill-in-the-blank" Parmesan and lots and lots of pasta. The menu features enticing "beauty shots" of prepared dishes that bear no resemblance to anything you will be served. After minutes of scanning the menu, I decided on spaghetti with marinara sauce for twelve bucks, topped with broccoli for an additional $2.99. Mrs. Pincus ordered one of the "fill-in-the-blank" Parmesans, with the "blank," in this case, being substituted for eggplant. The cousin sisters opted to
split a single order of chicken parmesan over fettucine Alfredo instead of the standard spaghetti. This deviation from the norm momentarily confused our waiter. He nearly brought out a
full order of chicken parm and a
full order of Alfredo until Veronica politely — but
sternly — rephrased the order.
Our waiter brought out a big bowl of salad and a big basket of breadsticks — which are actually just mini loaves of bread. The salad was okay. Not
great. Not
awful. Just
okay. It had too much dressing on it, but it was okay. The breadsticks were
okay, as well. My spaghetti, sauce and broccoli was okay. Not
great. Not
awful. Just okay. The eggplant parmesan, as reported by Mrs. Pincus,
also fell into the realm of satisfaction within the "just okay" bracket. Actually, she did not care for the blandness of the spaghetti that formed the bed for the eggplant and she spooned it onto my plate. That, too. was "just okay."
At the end of our meal, Veronica asked our waiter for a few of the Olive Garden's famous after-dinner mints. Evidently, Mrs. P's cousins are
way more familiar with the ways and means of Olive Garden. In their defense, they live in Virginia Beach. a municipality that boasts more shopping centers and chain restaurants than anywhere I've ever seen. There are
seven Olive Gardens in the Virginia Beach-Norfolk-Hampton Roads geographic area. As Mrs. P paid the check at the little on-table kiosk, our waiter returned with a take-out container stuffed with foil-wrapped, Olive Garden-logoed mints. They were "okay."
In hindsight, I think Olive Garden gets a bad rap. It's not horrible. It's not terrible. It's not the worst place I've ever eaten. It's a place to get food. Not great food, but food food.
I'll let you know if anything changes when I go back... in another ten years.
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