The Whaler Reviews a Restaurant
From November 10, 2006
There is a restaurant called The Olive Garden that I love to visit, and not because they treat you like family. Because they don't. They just like to say that they do. My family is European, and I kiss them on the cheeks when I see them, sometimes once, sometimes twice, and sometimes three times. Un, deux, trois. At The Olive Garden I have never once been kissed on the cheek. In fact, they won’t even shake my hand if I give it to them. But that's okay. I don’t go there to make friends.
I love The Olive Garden for its incomparable breadsticks and salad, which my anemic vocabulary can't flatter enough. I am convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that The Olive Garden’s breadsticks and salad have been touched by the hand of God! Twice in my life, in the spirit of honest debate, I asked men of faith how they were certain that God exists, and each of them gave me the same unsatisfying answer. “Because I just know,” they said self-righteously. Ask me on the other hand how I know that God exists, and I’ll give you something a whole lot better. I’ll give you actual proof. “Because I’ve been to The Olive Garden,” I’ll whisper. “And I’ve had their breadsticks.”
I like The Olive Garden’s breadsticks because they glisten with butter and sparkle with salt and because they're perfectly soft on the inside and out, as if my mom had kindly clipped away crusts and given me half-baked centers. I like The Olive Garden’s salad because it's made with iceberg lettuce and because every molecule comes bonded to Italian dressing. I have always favored iceberg lettuce over other greens because iceberg lettuce has no flavor of its own. It tastes only like that which it’s wearing, which is, I think, how a salad green should be. Other greens are bitter and dominate their dressings. I want a green that’s flavorless and efficient, like a plastic straw, which I’d use instead of lettuce if I weren’t embarrassed to drink dressing in public.
The Olive Garden offers a surprisingly broad selection of wines for a restaurant of its standing, but I don’t even read the wine list anymore. I couldn’t care less which wines The Olive Garden sells. I’ll drink red or white, whichever color fills my cup, because I am an opportunistic drinker. I would drink blue wine if that’s what you gave me, and I’d drink it all and then ask for more.
I heard a credible rumor once that nothing is made from scratch at The Olive Garden, that everything comes in a plastic bag for the chef to reheat. “They just boil it and then…Voila!" my friend told me one day. She’s never liked that I love The Olive Garden. She thinks it’s beneath my caste. If I were a candidate for public office, I’m pretty sure she’d do her best to keep me away from The Olive Garden. She’d tell my handlers, “It’s a political liability.”
I had to explain to that friend one time that I don’t care that the entrées come in a bag. “The Olive Garden’s entrées,” I told her, “have always been secondary.” But that was an understatement. In fact, The Olive Garden’s entrées have always been denary. When I am at The Olive Garden, my Hierarchy of Needs reads like this: salad, breadsticks, wine, family, friends, football, salad, breadsticks, wine, and finally my entree. I don’t even know where I’d place fresh air on that list. I’m too worried that it would hasten the oxidation of my blue wine. Sometimes I liken The Olive Garden’s salad to a nightclub. “To enter,” I say, “you’ve got to pay a cover charge.” And then I’ll point to a picture of the shrimp scampi, and say, “It’ll cost $20.95 for us to enter tonight. Plus tax and tip.”
I brought Eater X to The Olive Garden last week to thank him for feeding my beloved goldfish, Whistlepea, while I’d been away on a recent vacation. It was Eater X’s first trip to The Olive Garden and, even though I know he loved it, he called to my attention what I now realize to be The Olive Garden’s only obvious flaw.
“There’s a man in the bathroom handing out mints,” Eater X said nervously upon returning to our table mid-meal. He stood there in front of me, his eyes wide open.
“You mean the bathroom attendant?” I suggested kindly.
Eater X stood still. His expression remained unchanged.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Aw, nothing,” he said. He paused, and as he sat down he continued, “It’s just that I guess I would have preferred that he hand out breadsticks.”
<< | Posted on November 10, 2006 at 9:03 AM | >>
Wow, maybe The Whaler needs to start writing for Digest...
Posted by Mikey @ November 10, 2006 5:30 PM
Abraham Maslow was a Doctor of Philosophy. Your whole premise is screwed up. That is like quoting Plato or Socrates about Psychology. You have obviously been out to sea for too long.
By the way, Whistlepea is a girls name.
Posted by Pat Bertoletti @ November 10, 2006 9:53 PM
Have you tried the breadsticks at Fizzolies (sp?)? They rival the OG for soft n/ glistening and the entrees are more in the $3 range.
Posted by willow @ November 12, 2006 2:01 PM
You have to pick the right olive garden to appreciate it. If you get a good waiter or waitress they will wait on you hand and foot for all you can eat soup or salad . If you get a bad one expect to wait 15 min or more everytime you put an order in for more soup or salad. There are occasions where you wont even get breadsticks no matter how many times you ask. The olive gardens in the southeast are pretty decent
Posted by beautifulbrian @ November 12, 2006 7:21 PM
Whaler, my wife and I were at an Olive Garden on Friday night, so your writings are right on point. Please tell Eater X hello for us, the next time you see him.
Posted by Brian Subich @ November 13, 2006 7:21 AM
Is Fidel at this Olive Garden you speak of. I would like to meet there under the branches and the bread stickers
Posted by Edgar @ November 13, 2006 7:25 AM
I remember back in the early sixties when General Mills approached me with grave concern. They were about to launch their fabled Corn Flakes Cafe and someone kept stealling the blueprints and secret menu. One of the items was a conflake crusted bread stirrer. The diner was suppose to shake the cornflakes off the rod and then use it as a stirrer in their "Bowl of Plenty" cereal appetizer. I was trusted with the first prototype and I (while under the influence of an entire box of merlot) wandered into my neighbors garden (I was living in Walnut Creek at the time). It was under an Olive Tree that the General Mills folk found me. I was naked with my head resting on the crushed box of merlot and in my hand I held all that remained of the corn flake log. My salty drool covered what they called a stick of bread. When I came to in the Mayo Clinic three days later, I couldn't remember a thing. Two weeks later in 1982 General Mills abandoned The CornFlake Cafe and decided to open something called, "The Olive Garden". You can imagine my suprise when the "breadstick" became the number one item on the menu...it was born of my saliva. It should have been mine. I never thought about this until this Whaler post. Perhaps I'll hire one of those Don Lerman defending Lawyers to represent me. I should own the Olive Garden chain, and not be a hasbeen private dick picking crumb cases off the floor like the "Case of the claimed debris". Awful stuff, really. Olive Garden, screw you!
Posted by Gumshoe LaChance @ November 13, 2006 1:04 PM
I own a small vineyard that bottles blue wine. Our most popular varietal is Cobalt Zinfandel. We aren't on the O.V. wine list yet, but we can dream
Posted by Jibby McPhatusCreme @ November 13, 2006 1:06 PM
I have escaped Gal Sone's stomach and I'm on my way to America...I am Custard Baby! Prepare for me!
Posted by Custard Baby @ November 13, 2006 3:12 PM
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggg. I'll stab that whistlepea with a shrimp fork and gut her/him from bow to starboard. Mark my words! Whistlepea will be mine, arg.
Posted by The Shrimper @ November 14, 2006 6:52 AM
I believe that The Whaler's wrath knows no cyberspace bounds. He has clearly harpooned eatfeats, much like he did to bigbrian.org and speedeat.com. I believe this is not a whale of a tale, but the seafaring truth. Is it true Whaler? Will you continue to hunt the internet waters until this sit is the only ship afloat? Also, can you post a picture of you and Eater X shirtless for the girls in the Kegal Hall?
Posted by Long Time Looker, First Time Poster @ November 14, 2006 10:07 AM
Sir,
My co-worker who has not washed out his coffee cup looks sallow. I think the end is near.
Posted by Co-worker of Stubborn Office Guy @ November 15, 2006 6:31 AM
I have been placed on retainer to investigate the birth of Custard Baby from Japan. Can a baby be born of custard and if so, how? Is it the cause of some sort of pudding pregnancy or is it immaculate regurgitation. This case should prove be the masterpiece that puts me on the map for the detective hall of fame. No one but Gumshoe LaChance can solve the case of Custard Baby...
Posted by Gumshoe LaChance @ November 15, 2006 6:35 AM
I second that about the picture of Eater X shirtless. He is Omega Mu's number 1 competitive eater.
Posted by President of Omega Mu @ November 15, 2006 9:35 AM
Dear Whaler,
(I still haven't read this all the way through; I keep getting distracted-- it's very interactive! They're like little fun surprises!).
I want to meet Mr. Gumshoe LaChance. And go to the "Corn Flakes Cafe."
Also, it is very difficult to look like I'm working with the flowers on this page. And I keep laughing periodically. But that's a good thing.
(Hi Pat!).
Posted by The Kristina @ November 16, 2006 5:18 PM
Kristina. Good to hear from you again. I have been thinking about you a lot lately. I regret not finishing where we left off.
How does The Cat in the Hat end?
Posted by Pat Bertoletti @ November 17, 2006 11:25 AM
You can always email me to meet me. I am free this friday night, Saturday night, sunday night, monday, tuesday, weds, most of thursday, and friday - sunday of the following month.
I belive that the cat in the hat will end when Custard Baby eats whistlepea.
Sorry, I've been drinking again and don't know what I writing.
Posted by Gumshoe LaChance @ November 17, 2006 3:45 PM
Pat,
I have no idea what you are talking about. Dr. Seuss characters scare me. Come to Houston.
LaChance,
Let's do it. Bring Custard Baby.
Love,
The Kristina
Posted by The Kristina @ November 18, 2006 2:33 AM
I am still looking for a ride to America as my liquid form disalows me from travelling by plane. I think its so unfair, I'm sorta solid. Really, I'm sublime, but not the sublime that a solid turns to gas (that's icky gross). I'm the other kind.
If Whistlepea is as lonely as me, maybe we can be friends.
Posted by Custard Baby @ November 19, 2006 11:22 AM
The Shrimper is down in the hatch planning evil things, but I can't find my watch and I'm suppose to be coordinating a boat pick-up of either two guys named Edgar and Castra or three guys named Edgar, Castra, and Fidel off the coast of Florida and then head to Japan to pick up some pudding or something and then head to the Isle of Atlantic City (Ohhh, I hate that place) and kidnap a whistle and some peas. To be honest, I'm a little out of the loop and without my watch I can't tell time because I can't shield the sun with my missing forearm. Can anyone tell me what time it is? I hope its not a bother.
Posted by Lobster Larry @ November 20, 2006 11:34 AM
its 2:35 am on the 21st of novemmy and i hope that pudding you are talking about is me, pudding.
Posted by Custard Baby @ November 20, 2006 11:36 AM
Absecon Island, Atlantic City is on Absecon Island!!!
The towns of Ventnor, Margate and Longport are also on the Island, and are the inspiration for the names on the Monopoly board. Ironically the town of Absecon is a few miles inland.
Beware the Shallows....
Posted by Actual Factual @ November 20, 2006 2:13 PM
Shallows indeed...we are in deep on this one (hiccup). Armed with the news that a communist collusion is in place, I have gone on a brandy binge for three days. But now I am only focused on what appears to be a masterminded plan by a nimwitted moron. Can it be that the diabolical Shrimper is on his way (on his boat with Lobster Larry and his missing forearm) to the coast of Florida to pick up renegade eater Castro Intestinal and perhaps the dumbest man in history, Edgar. Are they on their way to Cuba or perhaps, Japan to pick up the ameoba-like Custard Baby. And then, this is pure speculation from my forty one years as a private dick, are they on to Atlantic City ("The Isle of" as those waterlogged willies call it) to perhaps kidnap The Whaler's beloved Whistlepea? My god, this is too much for one man to bear alone...especially because the brandy snifter has rolled under the bed. Email me at gumshoelachance@aol.com if you have any leads or perhaps a stick or something to dislodge the snifter. I am turning down all other cases for this one, including the case of the hooked stick under the skirt, which really, didn't seem like my cup of brandy after all. Under the bed, I go...who knows where evil or brandy snifters lurk in the hearts of seaman or under beds...Gumshoe LaCha-LaCha-La (hiccup) I know. At least I think I do.
Posted by Gumshoe LaChance @ November 21, 2006 9:07 AM
This is a cease and desist letter to Olive Peabody of Elm Lane. Please refrain from refering to your backyard plantings and shrubs as, "Olive's Garden" or we will be forced to take strong legal manuevers. Court case #238hje9
Posted by Olive Garden Lawyer @ November 21, 2006 9:09 AM
Yeah, Yeah Yeah. The old tossing meatballs trick. I don't believe any of it. No one should accuse anyone of anything. If you don't drop the subject I'll use the stun gun on you. Give the money to charity. I don't care, but a word to the wise. Baca and Bettale learned the hard way if you want your salad tossed you'll get it. Messy plates, missing meatballs, overstuffed mouths looks like a crime scene. Look at those photos, somebody got away with something, but the statue of limitations on poor meat handling ran out yesterday. Tacky, tacky, tacky, the whole lot of it. Next time you should have a member of the Colorado Police force on hand. We don't let no crapola go down on our watch. Not at the Olive Garden anyway. I think I'll have some spicy meatballs with my unlimited bread supply right now.
Posted by Top Cop Topkoff @ December 7, 2006 2:39 PM
wow
you reallllly like the breadsticks and salad. and so do i. you captured them perfectly.
definitely the best part of the OG experience
hahahahah
Posted by b... @ January 10, 2007 9:52 PM
MY NAME IS VICKY BOOP. MY DOCTOR TOLD ME I WAS ONE OF AMERICAN'S BIGGEST WOMEN BUT I DON'T CARE. I STILL GO TO OLIVE ON A REGULAR BASIS. WHO GIVES A SHIT!!?? I LOVE THE OLIVE IN MANCHESTER, CONNECTICUT. IT IS SO DELICIOUS. EVERYONE HATES ME THERE BECAUSE I'M SUCH A BITCH BUT THAT'S OKAY. THAT IS LIFE, NO? ANYHOW I'M ABOUT TO GO THERE WITH MY "FRIEND," WHO IS A NAVY SEAL MIGHT I ADD.
Posted by VICKY BOOP @ March 24, 2008 4:12 PM
Post a comment:
Whaler,
Thanks again for opening my eyes to the wonders of The Olive Garden. And Whistlepea was a delight! What a good goldfish he is!
Posted by Eater X @ November 10, 2006 11:30 AM