| Straight
from the holler.
by "Buck" January 11, 2007 Since Mr. Kay dedicated yesterday's column to a wicked experience at Chili’s, I figured I’d pile on. I frankly like Chili’s. I have no problem with garlic—so I can eat comfortably just about anywhere. I’m a big fan of those fuh-jeet-uhs. However, last week I had a wicked experience of my own at Jeff’s beloved TGI Fridays. We experienced the same high school drama with our hostess and an overly zealous waitress. However, rather than being queer, this woman was in her early 30’s and gave the appearance she had lived—and was continuing to live a hard life. She had deep pits in her face. Her eyes were sunken in her head. The hair looked damaged and worn down. She hunched a little, probably from the pain of being on her feet for hours at a time. She didn’t venture into her personal life, but if I had to guess this would be her life story: Married at 19, two kids by 21, divorced by 22. She was probably a looker in high school, possibly even a cheerleader and extremely popular. However, she served this role of the big fish in a very small southern West Virginia pond. After high school she didn’t have the grades, the money, or the sense to leave and go to college. Instead, she married a 20-year old who worked at a gas station and drove a used Mustang. She swore she’d love him forever, but after a couple of years of getting the shit beaten out of her she turned to cigarettes, booze, and Oxycontin to ease the pain. Now at 32, she’s a single mom living on subsistence checks from welfare, fighting with her ex for child support every month, and trying to raise two wild kids on a minimum wage salary and tips. Since she’s always working, the kids have no supervision and are always in trouble. This is the typical life course for many West Virginia women that I’ve observed in recent years. It was pretty sad as I sat there contemplating all of this while trying to decide between Coca-Cola and sweetened ice tea. I wound up giving her a $12 tip. Despite the depression of the waitress, the food wasn’t bad—excect for the appetizer. I ordered a Jack Daniels barbecue sandwich. I’m a barbecue snob, and typically have a high standard for good ‘cue. Generally chain restaurants fall well short of expectations. The best barbecue, from my wide travels, is served in Styrofoam through a walk-up window from a black man wearing a filthy apron, with wood smoke boiling from the building. However, the mix of bourbon and molasses hit the spot and I have to say it was damn good. The sandwich came in a lunch deal which included a choice from three appetizers and two deserts. The appetizers didn’t appeal to me, so I let my wife select. She chose Chinese chicken dumplings. What the fuck? With Barbecue? Well, I’m a chicken-n-dumplin’ lover from way back so what the hell. I must tell you these ain’t my Mamma’s chicken and dumplings. The fucking things tasted like newspapers stuffed with Not-Dogs and they had the shape of human ears. I nearly spewed vomit onto a fellow patron while trying to ingest that vile garbage. It’s clear why their Chinese food, because only a fucking communist could stomach that shit. As for other my review of other restaurants: Outback Steak House: I’d describe it as OutPRICED steakhouse. Too costly for my budget, but the food the last time I took out a second mortgage to eat there was okay. Applebee’s: No baked potatoes on the menu? Go fuck yourself. TGI Friday’s: Saturday was only my second experience—and minus the audio organ of an appetizer, both were positive. Olive Garden: Better known in my household as “The Grapes” referencing their logo. I still don’t understand why it’s not called the Grape Garden, but then I’m a hillbilly. Once you’re past the irrational marketing plan, the food is damn fine. True Italians tell me it’s “honkies trying to cook Italian”. However, I’m from West Virginia, not Tuscany, so it works for me. Uno’s Chicago Grill: I’ll never darken the door of this shithole ever again. I’ve had too many ugly experiences with poor food, asshole staff, and long LONG waits for service. The one near our home went out of business, which was no surprise given their track record. I must not have been the only one. I later learned that it was owned by our hillbilly lotto champion Jack Whittaker—better known locally as “white trash with cash.” This explained a lot. Shoney’s: Other than the breakfast bar, I won’t touch the stuff. Logan’s Steakhouse: This place is pretty good, but I have a hard time keeping them all straight. A mid-level quality steak with peanut hulls on the floor and shit kicking wait staff that line dances on your birthday. This goes for Logan’s, Lone Star, Texas Roadhouse, and Reno’s. They’re all about the same. Ryan’s: I’ve never eaten at this place, but thoroughly enjoyed the Macaroni and Beef story listed in the Best of the WVSR. Bennigan’s: I found it to be okay food, but again very overpriced. Restaurants that I often return to include the Olive Garden, one of those generic steakhouse restaurants, and when I’m in the mood for Mexican you can’t beat Cozumel. I took Jeff Kay there last summer and he’ll vouch for the food. [I wish I was there right now. -ed.] The Rio Grande is also a good place for Mexican—served by REAL illegal Mexicans. You can’t understand a fucking thing they say and it’s possible you’re eating a dingo burrito—but what the hell, it tastes good. --The weather has been way too nice for January in my neighborhood. So much so that my drunken, disabled neighbor decided to launch into a home improvement project. He’s been converting his garage into a bedroom and figured with the warm weather he’d continue. I was packing the Christmas gear into the storage building the other day and noticed him wielding a Skill saw. He was drunk (as usual) and the crazy fucker mishandled the tool and cut a nine-inch gash in his leg! Blood was running out onto the driveway and he was screaming like.. somebody had just cut his leg off. I ran over to assist, grabbed a dirty grease rag and plugged the hole. His wife came out all panicked. I managed to get her to hold the dirty rag while I called 911. He wound up with about 40-stitches and some nerve damage. I’m sure he will just drink it off and enjoy the painkillers he’s been prescribed. What a neighborhood. Buck Out |
