Eating on the Road in America

I am writhing in anger and pain. My eyes are swollen and itchy, my stomach bloated and confusingly unsatiated. I don’t want to think about moving, but the fake arbor of grapes, the sticky vinyl booth, the sepia photographs of chianti bottles and Tuscan villas are nauseating me more than the scent of fried squid and sour white wine. I know I must get out of this place even if it hurts to stand.

I didn’t think I would be angry. But two bites into my Mixed Grill dinner, I lost my shit. Cutting into a piece of meat (Why did I think meat would be a safer choice than pasta? Why?) drenched in a congealing dark brown liquid, I wrinkled my nose and looked up at Joe, “Does this look OK?” The pink center of the fuzzy textured “steak” looked slimy and dyed. “What did you expect?” he said as he steered his tortellini into a puddle of khaki cream sauce on the faux Italian plate in front of him, a newly refreshed basket of pale sticks of dough off to the side. Wilted iceberg lettuce, faded red tomatoes, yellowing croutons drenched in an opaque oily dressing clung to the sides of a plastic salad bowl between us.

“How is everything?” our server appeared with another basket of bread (unlimited, unneeded). She swooped in and placed a full Coke next to Joe’s half finished glass (why stop with shitty food when you can have shitty drinks too?). We both look astonished and confused at the one and a half glasses of soda on the table. Neither of us usually drink soda at all and to have free refills seems preposterous. I stare at my plate and nod while Joe manages to smile up at her and say politely, “Everything’s great. Thanks.” She walks off and I mumble, “Except for the food!” I pretend to throw my plate across the restaurant. Joe is amused but I feel sort of bad for everyone working and eating here. This is when I start to get angrier.

This is not a restaurant review. There was no reasonable part of me that thought that the food at Olive Garden would be delicious. Sure, there was that little roadtripping voice in my head when we pulled off the freeway saying that This Would Be Fun! Crappy fast food or chain restaurants are a (fun!) novelty on a trip. Enjoy the (fun!) atmosphere that the “typical” American experiences on a Saturday date night! Use those gift cards you got for Christmas two years ago to order up something you wouldn’t normally get (like anything on an Olive Garden menu). Enjoy the family atmosphere and smiling servers wearing the ubiquitous cheeky buttons (Hospitaliano!).

I am angry because my food is barely edible. The meat is cheap and tasteless. The potatoes are dry and over-seasoned. The flaccid stems of asparagus are bitter and fibrous. The salad was elementary school cafeteria level at best. The half a breadstick I gnawed upon (just because it was there) was slick with garlic flavored oil and cloyingly sweet. I am angry because the restaurant is full of families and couples and friends tucking into this barely-passable-as-food food. I wonder how many nutrients (if any) this plate of protein and carbs contains. I wonder if the people sitting here actually enjoy what is on the table. I am angry because an entrée here costs almost $20 and I know of a dozen locally owned restaurants in San Diego where you can get locally grown veggies, freshly made pasta, and humanely raised (and much better tasting) meat for the same price. Maybe you don’t get unlimited (shitty) salad, but you do get freshly baked bread and butter. I am angry because THIS is why people think that vegetables don’t taste good. Because they don’t: HERE. I am angry because a corporation is duping people into thinking that this is what food should taste like, that this is a treat. They are duping people into thinking this is what food tastes like in ITALY! (Even Berlusconi shouldn’t be served this shite)
I am angry that the corporation is raking in profits serving meat that was raised in a corral of shit, that the animal was pumped full of hormones and antibiotics and lived a horrid life. That the vegetables were most likely sprayed with pesticides and grown in fumigated, dead earth and that this corporation could definitely afford to buy organic produce. I am angry that restaurants like these force smaller restaurants (that may support local farms and artisans) out of business by just being there, being an option, being the one with more marketing dollars and a “name,”  and pretend to be an affordable choice. That in certain parts of this country there are no locally owned restaurants or markets or even farms. That a fancy night out is the choice between the Applebees and Olive Garden at the Mall, while on Main Street (or Commercial or 1^st Street) the storefront vacancies are abundant and devastating.

I am pissed that the vegetables taste like shit and a generation will grow up hating vegetables because they don’t know the difference. They will eat more and have health problems because their bodies are yearning for nutrients that this type of food does not provide. I believe that you can eat 3000 calories but if the food doesn’t have the nutrients and minerals you need, your body will not be satiated. You will leave with an uncomfortably full yet undernourished feeling. You will crave more even if it tastes like that freezerburnt hamburger helper casserole you’re reluctant to chip out of the back corner of the fridge because you know it is at least four years old and probably tastes like dog poop. I know it is a privilege to eat food and even more of a privilege to be able to eat out every once in a while. Perhaps that is why I am even angrier at Olive Garden than at a place like Ruth's Chris: both are overpriced, but OG is pretending to have quality food at a low price and that is a lie.

I didn’t finish my meal. I didn’t accept a doggy bag. I rarely let food go to waste but this was not food. I did grumble an order for tiramisu reasoning that cream and liquor is hard to fuck up. Wrong. It tasted like Cool Whip and Quik powder. There was no Kahlua. But I squeezed nearly every cent out of the gift cards because I know I am not going back.

The lack of brand name coffee liquor in a shitty dessert is hardly the point. My point is… Support your local restaurants. Especially when it costs the same as an oversized but under-nourishing meal at a chain. Eat good, fresh, local food when you can. Go out of your way (away from the freeway most likely) to find a place to eat. Make an effort. If you’re at home and have an hour, you can cook up an organic steak and veggie dinner for much less than $40. It’s worth it. Your health, your kids (or your neighbors’), your planet, your gut, and your freaking taste buds will thank you. And I will too. In fact, let's go out to dinner. Just you and me. We’ll go dutch. You pick the place and as long as there is only one of them, I’ll go. And I promise not to rant about Olive Garden, I swear.