Saturday night, 8 p.m. My section has as many children in it as it does adults and it has since we opened. What ever happened to date night? A window into what I'm dealing with:
Upon approaching table 47 to take their drink order:
"I'll have a Nantucket Mule," says the khaki-clad Father figure. "She'll have a sangria," he gestures to his wife, "and they'll have...uh...do you have milk?"
"CHOCOLATE milk?" his son blurts out before I can answer. He and his sister stare up at me expectantly, as though there are only chocolate cows where they come from and the thought of a night without chocolate milk with dinner is just irritating.
"No, we don't," I answer. "I mean, we have this spicy chocolate sauce that we use on the churros, which I could add to some cold milk. But its pretty spicy..." I warn. Table 52 demanded to have all spicy things obviated from their kids' food; I assume 47 will feel the same.
"No, that's okay..." the father says.
"I WANT to TRY IT!" the little boy screams.
Well, now we know who's in charge.
When I deliver their drink, the Dad asks, "Do you have anything KID-friendly?"
I direct him to the kobe beef burgers. "They're perfect for little kids."
At table 48:
Taking a drink order is difficult since the little five year old asshole won't stop screaming and hitting his mother as she navigates the menu. They order all of their meats cooked well done and flag me down to hold me to task when their burgers take while.
"Um...do you know where the kobe burgers are? It's taking a long time," the mom says. She's a total MILF and she and her guest are both dressed to the nines. Their "child" (I suspect he may be some obnoxious terrorist robot in the guise of a five year old boy) is swatting at her face and hair with his filthy, sauce covered fingers. Their outfits will be ruined by the end of dinner.
"I'll check on them for you. It usually takes a little while longer to cook the meat well done," I say.
"Thanks. It's just that he's getting tired..." she says, gesturing to her child. Her sense of urgency is palpable.
The burgers arrive not a minute too soon. And within minutes the MILF is flagging me over.
"He needs ketchup," she says.
Yes, of course, the ultimate garnish.
Kobe beef is the new baby food which should DEFINITELY try with ketchup, bedtime is the new last call, and Toro is the new romper room on Saturday night.
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3 comments:
Oh for the love of Sweet Baby Jesus! I HATE it when parents who don't have full control over their kids take them to a dinner place that really isn't meant for kids.
When I was a kid, if my parents ever took us out, we knew to shut the hell up and eat what we were given.
I can tell you that it annoys the hell out of both The Husband and I when we go out and see obnoxious children at a table next to us. As a restaurant owner though, there's nothing you can do. You have to take in anyone who wants to dine there.
I mean, I expect to see children at places like Picco and even Mela. But Toro? Sibling Rivalry? Douzo? Hellz no.
Good for you for having the patience to deal with the little kids though.
It was a long time ago in a city far, far away. I had a simple solution at my restaurants.
NO high chairs
NO booster seats
NO chicken
Leave your precious little snowflakes at home or go somewhere else.
But as vile South End yuppies, we're entitled to have a Saturday Night out, aren't we? Apparently, we have enough money for a luxury condo but not enough for a baby sitter. When the f. did everything have to become "child-friendly?" Shouldn't there just be some places that are and some that just are not? The South End has become a big "baby changing station." Good for you for reporting on this, well-done, as usual!!
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