That Sometimes Wafts Over

Last night I went to the local Italian pace, Gelati.  We had a nice time.  Tonight my daughter wanted to introduce us to her boyfriend.  “So let’s all go meet at Gelati.”  This is a precious invitation, I know without asking and I feign enthusiasm.  “Sure, yes. Gelati then.  What time shall we meet?”

It’s hard to know if it’s simply the evolution of my taste buds or if it really has all gotten worse, much worse than it was before in this neighborhood.  Many of the same restaurants were here ten years ago.  I don’t remember thinking that they all sucked the way I do now.   

We went to Gelati last night and were told that there was a twenty-minute wait.   There are at least fifteen other restaurants in this Pinnacle Plaza Mall.  And we have bad memories from most of them.  Last night we’d walked around to the Japanese place which is also acceptable.  They also had a wait.  The American burger place, the Shandong family style, the other two Japanese teppanyaki spots the Thai restaurants and the faux, Pho, Vietnamese eatery as well as the two pub food places . . . . none of them were appealing to any of us.  Each one served up a bad memory, like the sewage smell that sometimes wafts over from across the parking wall.

The real estate here must be ferociously expensive.  There is a captive audience of villa dwellers, and there should be lots of competition.  But there is little of anything Darwinian here, that pushes the ecosystem to produce quality or go out of business.  They must, it seems, all be funded regardless of whether people dine or don’t.  They must all be vanity projects of one sort or another.

Last night then, to kill time we went over to the bar across the street that my wife enjoys.  She knows everyone there. They comped me for the beer I ordered, which is an even better bargain than the informal comping rules at a real Irish pub, where the house will get the third or the fourth.  They were playing some old blues and my wife mentioned to the young waiter that Aretha Franklin had just died.  We explained who she was and they looked and soon “Chain, Chain, Chain” was pouring from the speakers up above.  I noticed they had a menu and I asked my wife if she didn’t want to just order here.  She mentioned that the drink menu was good but their food wasn’t palatable. 

Saturday 8/18/18