"Sagebrush is a very fair fuel, but as a vegetable it is a distinguished failure. Nothing can abide the taste of it but the jackass and his illegitimate child the mule." -Mark Twain, Roughing It
I go to restaurants for the food. I know I should pay more attention to the ambiance and interior design, but I don't. I go for the food, and, fortunately, most restaurants do not serve sagebrush. I have never ordered sagebrush even as a specialty item, but I have seen some strange salads in my day.
One day Patricia and I stopped at a restaurant overlooking the Mississippi. It was a great location, and we were enjoying the atmosphere very much until the salad appeared. I have never seen anything quite like it. The whole salad was smothered in a half-inch-thick, white ranch dressing. I discovered quickly that the dressing was just a coverup. Underneath was brown lettuce and aged salad ingredients. Sagebrush would have been better. I declined my salad, but the couple and their two children at an adjoining table seemed to relish theirs. To each his own I always say. Perhaps they were foreigners.
Last night, we made reservations at a nice restaurant. The food was good, and the atmosphere was great, but our poor waitress was hopeless. With few exceptions my restaurant complaints are not about food but about service. Last night we had the poster child. She tried so very hard. She was enthusiastic, and she was energetic. She got our orders wrong twice. She came back to interrupt our conversation many times in a loud voice, "Is everything OK? I will have the next course out shortly." She never waited for the right moment; she just blurted in. After a while, she moved from irritating to annoying. She remained annoying the rest of the evening.
On the plus side, she did not spill anything on me. This is always a plus. I wish I could say otherwise, but food and drink seem to sail my way. The worst was on a road trip several years ago. We had enjoyed a nice meal with excellent service. The well-known national chain was filled with customers. In fact, the wait staff was working very hard--too hard perhaps. We were getting ready to leave when a young woman bussing tables walked by with a leaning Tower of Pisa stack of twenty plates. The tower leaned and then fell in my direction. I could see it fall in slow motion. My whole restaurant life flashed before my eyes. Trapped in the booth, there was no escape. Plates and potatoes and steak sauce cascaded down onto my hair, my shirt, and down to my shoes. Even my mustache was covered in gravy, bits of salad, potatoe peelings, and sagebrush. I dug myself out of the debri and staggered to the Men's Room for cleanup.
Cleanup--now that's laugh. I discarded the big pieces and removed the worst offenders, but there was no cleaning up. I also had a five hour drive ahead. So I stumbled back to the table a walking buffet. The manager was there apologizing profusely. He offered us all dessert. I was not in the mood for more sagebrush. He offered to get my clothes cleaned. I declined since I lived five hours away.
Shockingly, the manager did not offer to comp our meal. We were all shocked; I am still shocked to this day. So wrapped in gravy and sauce, I paid my bill and left. To this day, I cannot go back to that restaurant chain. I was not a satisfied customer. I will never be a customer again. I value my safety too much.
I understand there is a national search for the next great restaurant idea. Perhaps I should suggest a sagebrush restaurant. It could be western themed. I can see it now--sagebrush salad, sagebrush burgers, sagebrush stirfry, and sagebrush desserts. It's a great, new idea. No one else is doing it, and it could get a lot of press. I will also suggest that the "cowboys and cowgirls" serving the sagebrush be thoroughly trained. Maybe even sagebrush would be delicious with the right service.
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