Destination: Grease February 20, 2013

If you are looking for the YouTube link to Sandy and Danny belting out “Summer Lovin’,” you are about to be sorely disappointed.

I shall, instead, detail our periodic mini-vacay to visit the number one son at college, in the tiny town that can no longer support a substandard tapas restaurant (see Tapas con Pepsi and you will get the idea).  The good news is that the tapas place has been supplanted by a much higher functioning sushi- based establishment, and the shrimp served there now does not produce the aroma of ammonia.  Sadly, due to some tummy sensitivity issues, I am wary of much of the beautiful variety available, and went with a safe “teriyaki” dish.  Clearly, not the priority of the kitchen, so mediocre at best.

The next evening found me eating a sandwich whose plate level bread was sodden with whatever moisture should have remained separate from the bread.  News flash: insufficient grilling of grilled sandwiches makes for grease sponge.

Clearly, I am in need of a new strategy for eating out on a weekend out of town in Culinary Desert, USA.  As always, your suggestions are shredder fodder  welcome, but I am leaning toward one new and shining policy: 

Order dessert as main course.

It’s cheaper, so if they screw it up, one feels less disappointed and pissy.

Restaurant staff can relax a bit, and may be inclined to add extra whipped cream to show their appreciation for your loving gesture.  I keep my favorite blog/waitress in mind here, javaj240.  Surely, it is logical to assume that dessert orderers are a more jovial lot than your average customer. . .

In a related story, I am also considering just bringing along my Hutzler 571 Banana Slicer, which is my new favorite product of all time based on Amazon published reviews.  I think you’ll agree that it was worth wading through the drivel above to get to the drivel below.

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

33,960 of 34,241 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars No more winning for you, Mr. Banana! March 3, 2011

By SW3K

For decades I have been trying to come up with an ideal way to slice a banana. “Use a knife!” they say. Well…my parole officer won’t allow me to be around knives. “Shoot it with a gun!” Background check…HELLO! I had to resort to carefully attempt to slice those bananas with my bare hands. 99.9% of the time, I would get so frustrated that I just ended up squishing the fruit in my hands and throwing it against the wall in anger. Then, after a fit of banana-induced rage, my parole officer introduced me to this kitchen marvel and my life was changed. No longer consumed by seething anger and animosity towards thick-skinned yellow fruit, I was able to concentrate on my love of theatre and am writing a musical play about two lovers from rival gangs that just try to make it in the world. I think I’ll call it South Side Story.Banana slicer…thanks to you, I see greatness on the horizon.

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18,720 of 18,905 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Saved my marriage July 30, 2012

By Mrs Toledo

What can I say about the 571B Banana Slicer that hasn’t already been said about the wheel, penicillin, or the iPhone…. this is one of the greatest inventions of all time. My husband and I would argue constantly over who had to cut the day’s banana slices. It’s one of those chores NO ONE wants to do! You know, the old “I spent the entire day rearing OUR children, maybe YOU can pitch in a little and cut these bananas?” and of course, “You think I have the energy to slave over your damn bananas? I worked a 12 hour shift just to come home to THIS?!” These are the things that can destroy an entire relationship. It got to the point where our children could sense the tension. The minute I heard our 6-year-old girl in her bedroom, re-enacting our daily banana fight with her Barbie dolls, I knew we had to make a change. That’s when I found the 571B Banana Slicer. Our marriage has never been healthier, AND we’ve even incorporated it into our lovemaking. THANKS 571B BANANA SLICER!

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10,766 of 10,886 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars GREAT Gift August 3, 2012

By Uncle Pookie

Once I figured out I had to peel the banana before using – it works much better.
Ordering one for my nephew who’s in the air force in California. He’s been using an old slinky to slice his banana’s. He should really enjoy this product!

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Beware Tapas con Pepsi Part Two: The world is a safer place today September 8, 2012

I posted this a long time ago. I am pretty sure that three people read it.  But I got the most delicious news that gave me hope that all is maybe closer to right with the world. If nothing else, the world is a safer place! Pepsi/Tapas has closed! I wish the owners the best and I hope that they have given in to their minimalist leanings and are running a profitable bread-only-bakery.

Parents with kids in college go to visit them, and take them out to dinner.  It’s not home cooking, but it’s different than the usual dining hall fare.  For my kid, this usually means something called the Mini Chicken Quesadilla.  So I thought that checking out the tiny town’s tapas restaurant would be a fun departure! Funky, ethnic, Spanishy!

That show on PBS where Mario Batali and Gwyneth Paltrow traveled through Spain, eating and drinking and being in good moods all the time—it had colored my vision a bit, especially since they went to some world-class tapas place with Michael Stipe.  What could go wrong?

On that show, they always enjoyed the most inspired and historically rich wine pairings for everything.  This place not only had no liquor license, it offered one beverage: Pepsi.  Granted, the menu teased that they carried “Pepsi products,” but, when pressed, our server made it clear that, no, there was Pepsi.  Her tone implied that we should have known this somehow, and that all tapas places followed this custom.

HIGHLIGHT: Fabulous bread.

LOWLIGHT:  All else pretty dull and yucky. I won’t go into details. Don’t order seafood.

There is one dessert on the menu. For 6.99, you can taste that traditional, creamy-sweet indulgence known as flan.  Except that, no, we couldn’t. Which we also should have intuited. So we ordered the substitute dessert, which was equally pricey, but best described by my son’s friend who joined us for the hijinx:  “I think it was leftover from someone’s office party.” It was very pink, and was served on pink paper plates, to boot! It was also reminiscent of the strawberry Zinger.  Seven-year-old approved.

In retrospect, perhaps I should have taken as an omen the fact that, shortly after we entered the restaurant, a twelve-year-old appeared from behind the kitchen entrance curtain, brandishing a plastic pistol.  Next time.  For now, I’m chalking this one up to Memorable Dining Experiences in College Town.  In the end, it will not soon be forgotten. Or repeated.

Beware Tapas con Pepsi February 22, 2012

Parents with kids in college go to visit them, and take them out to dinner.  It’s not home cooking, but it’s different than the usual dining hall fare.  For my kid, this usually means something called the Mini Chicken Quesadilla.  So I thought that checking out the tiny town’s tapas restaurant would be a fun departure! Funky, ethnic, Spanishy!

That show on PBS where Mario Batali and Gwyneth Paltrow traveled through Spain, eating and drinking and being in good moods all the time—it had colored my vision a bit, especially since they went to some world-class tapas place with Michael Stipe.  What could go wrong?

On that show, they always enjoyed the most inspired and historically rich wine pairings for everything.  This place not only had no liquor license, it offered one beverage: Pepsi.  Granted, the menu teased that they carried “Pepsi products,” but, when pressed, our server made it clear that, no, there was Pepsi.  Her tone implied that we should have known this somehow, and that all tapas places followed this custom.

HIGHLIGHT: Fabulous bread.

LOWLIGHT:  All else pretty dull and yucky. I won’t go into details. Don’t order seafood.

There is one dessert on the menu. For 6.99, you can taste that traditional, creamy-sweet indulgence known as flan.  Except that, no, we couldn’t. Which we also should have intuited. So we ordered the substitute dessert, which was equally pricey, but best described by my son’s friend who joined us for the hijinx:  “I think it was leftover from someone’s office party.” It was very pink, and was served on pink paper plates, to boot! It was also reminiscent of the strawberry Zinger.  Seven-year-old approved.

In retrospect, perhaps I should have taken as an omen the fact that, shortly after we entered the restaurant, a twelve-year-old appeared from behind the kitchen entrance curtain, brandishing a plastic pistol.  Next time.  For now, I’m chalking this one up to Memorable Dining Experiences in College Town.  In the end, it will not soon be forgotten. Or repeated.