During a long weekend one winter, I was having a meal at the kind of restaurant where patrons dine off plastic plates while sitting in rows of cafeteria tables. The woman behind me was complaining loudly about her dressing-on-the-side, hold-the-croutons salad, and her companion was equally disappointed with his vegetarian pizza.
Given that this was a back-door barbecue joint, and I was elbow-deep in ribs, brisket, and baked beans, I wondered: what was she expecting? A smokehouse is a terrible place to order a salad. From top to bottom, the menu listed barbecue ribs, country ribs, spare ribs, baby-back ribs, and a rib combo platter before reaching the chicken section (including the chicken ’n’ rib platter), and the beef section (featuring a beef ’n’ pork rib platter).
The menu ended with a brief mention of pizza and salad, which looked like a footnote for wayward vegetarians who wandered through the wrong door.
We’ve all been there. It’s five days or fifty hours into a road trip, and you’re stopped at the only town for miles, in the only restaurant that isn’t McDonalds. The coffee-stained menu is split between types of hamburgers and a hodge-podge mix of “steaks”. Swiss steak, chicken-fried steak, hamburger steak, country-fried steak, and “special” steak. It’s been days since you’ve had something that isn’t deep-fried and this place has french fries listed as a vegetable. Somewhere on the second page of the two-page menu, right below the “Senior’s Specials” you spot it: the only thing on the menu that can ward off the deep-fried-road-trip-scurvy. Nestled between “chicken fingers with fries” and “fried chicken with fries” is the one fresh vegetable dish on the menu.
It’s tempting, but don’t order it. Like a culinary Where’s Waldo, you’ve spotted the anomaly on the menu and I guarantee you it’s a mistake to order. It looks like an oasis in a desert, but it’s really a flavorless landmine.
The routes of my past road trips are a connect-the-dots of disappointing entrees; evidence building the case for a life lesson.
The dishes are unforgettable. A terrible donair I ordered at a fried chicken place. The stale beef dip at the pizzeria. The gummy rice pilaf at the roadside fish stand. If it’s the odd-one-out on the menu, it will likely be the least-fresh, most poorly made item you can order. After all, the locals would never make that same mistake twice, and the unique ingredients are crammed in the back of the restaurant fridge waiting (for days) for the next tourist.
The lesson is this: never order the salad at a burger joint. Sure, it’s possible Sparky’s Burgers & Stuff has a fresh and tasty chef salad, but it’s more likely week-old, store-bought, pre-mixed iceburg lettuce with a sprinkle of carrots, and a single pale slice of tomato that has seen better days. Always ordering the obvious specialty of the restaurant is the best bet you can make.
So, order pasta at the Italian place, fried rice at the Chinese take-out, and chicken wings at the bar. Just don’t order a salad at a burger joint.
Given that this was a back-door barbecue joint, and I was elbow-deep in ribs, brisket, and baked beans, I wondered: what was she expecting? A smokehouse is a terrible place to order a salad. From top to bottom, the menu listed barbecue ribs, country ribs, spare ribs, baby-back ribs, and a rib combo platter before reaching the chicken section (including the chicken ’n’ rib platter), and the beef section (featuring a beef ’n’ pork rib platter).
The menu ended with a brief mention of pizza and salad, which looked like a footnote for wayward vegetarians who wandered through the wrong door.
We’ve all been there. It’s five days or fifty hours into a road trip, and you’re stopped at the only town for miles, in the only restaurant that isn’t McDonalds. The coffee-stained menu is split between types of hamburgers and a hodge-podge mix of “steaks”. Swiss steak, chicken-fried steak, hamburger steak, country-fried steak, and “special” steak. It’s been days since you’ve had something that isn’t deep-fried and this place has french fries listed as a vegetable. Somewhere on the second page of the two-page menu, right below the “Senior’s Specials” you spot it: the only thing on the menu that can ward off the deep-fried-road-trip-scurvy. Nestled between “chicken fingers with fries” and “fried chicken with fries” is the one fresh vegetable dish on the menu.
It’s tempting, but don’t order it. Like a culinary Where’s Waldo, you’ve spotted the anomaly on the menu and I guarantee you it’s a mistake to order. It looks like an oasis in a desert, but it’s really a flavorless landmine.
The routes of my past road trips are a connect-the-dots of disappointing entrees; evidence building the case for a life lesson.
The dishes are unforgettable. A terrible donair I ordered at a fried chicken place. The stale beef dip at the pizzeria. The gummy rice pilaf at the roadside fish stand. If it’s the odd-one-out on the menu, it will likely be the least-fresh, most poorly made item you can order. After all, the locals would never make that same mistake twice, and the unique ingredients are crammed in the back of the restaurant fridge waiting (for days) for the next tourist.
The lesson is this: never order the salad at a burger joint. Sure, it’s possible Sparky’s Burgers & Stuff has a fresh and tasty chef salad, but it’s more likely week-old, store-bought, pre-mixed iceburg lettuce with a sprinkle of carrots, and a single pale slice of tomato that has seen better days. Always ordering the obvious specialty of the restaurant is the best bet you can make.
So, order pasta at the Italian place, fried rice at the Chinese take-out, and chicken wings at the bar. Just don’t order a salad at a burger joint.