The continuation of our anniversary dinner saga . . . .
Now, there's no guarantee that the touristy lodge on the lake would have been any better, but they might have been able to offer more of the . . . ambiance, shall we say . . . that we were looking for that night.
First off, the seats of the booths were about - no exaggeration - 9" deep. They didn't exactly encourage a long, relaxing evening. Secondly, our two waitresses (one was "shadowing" the other) needed a little . . . coaching, shall we say? We ended up with an appetizer than we didn't want NOR order (the waitresses would disagree, apparently), but it actually tasted pretty darn good considering our hunger level at that point.
Now, here's an idea of the clientele. We were seated next to a table set and reserved for a party of 22 people. A group of 4 folks, one being an obvious local, came in and were seated directly behind us. The one talkative gentleman - perhaps the self-appointed mayor of this little berg - demands to know, as they're being seated, "What's goin' on here?!" A waitress kindly replies, "I don't know, but it's reserved for 22 people." To which the man - very laughingly - says, at the top of his lungs, "What is it - a funeral?! Ha ha ha!" The one or two other guests and we look at each other . . . . Ooooo-kay, then!
Our dinner conversation is now - and forever more - taken over by Mr. Talkative at the next table. We hear all about his annual trips to Cozumel, and his deep-sea diving tactics (most of which, Tom could confirm, were bullsh*t). We hear about this and that - all items of which he is EXTREMELY knowledgeable about. His dinner companions didn't get a word in edge-wise. If I'd had more guts, I told Tom that I would have gone over and politely thanked him for the stimulating entertainment as we left that night. Probably a wise idea that I didn't.
The wrong appetizer followed by a sub-par entree that wasn't close to what was advertised followed by an ice cream sundae that was more ice crystals than ice cream it was so old was topped by the party of 22 arriving. (Thank god for that spicy Bloody Mary!) It wasn't a funeral. (Sorry, Mr. Know-It-All.) Nope. It was a group of 22 Bubbas up from the Cities and away from their wives for a long Super Bowl weekend. And, as you know, when the women are away, the boys will play!
Let's sum it up this way: starting their evening off with libations in the bar, they purdy much filled the space that led to the restrooms. The gauntlet of pot-bellied Bud Light drinkers that Tom had to maneuver through to use the facilities prompted him to kindly suggest that we stop at Holiday on the way out of town so that I could use that bathroom rather than deal with "the boys".
And, to top it off, the meal cost $70.
Ohhhhhh, it was good to be back home! :)