Dining Out Requirements For Geezers

Last week, a group of us went off for dinner to one of those “hot new places” in Minneapolis, one of Saint Paul’s many fine suburbs.

This one specializes in fish, and in truth, the setting was handsome, lots of glass, comfortable chairs, and tables far enough apart so the congenital eavesdroppers in our bunch could not practice their artlessness too easily. Very contemporary.

Even better, the food was good and the crème brulée absolutely delish. I suppose that when we have enough money saved up, we’ll go back.

As I looked at all the folk happily chatting and drinking and eating, I wondered how I would define a perfect restaurant, then I realized I was eavesdropping on myself and postponed my defining process until now.

I have reached the point in life where having a good conversation is more important than knowing I am in the latest of an endless series of “hot spots,” so the first requirement of my ideal restaurant is that it be quiet enough that good conversation can sparkle. In other words, less glass, more carpet and soft furnishings, with tables far apart. These days the noise level in these places might convince some that they’re having a wonderful time – and – but the blur of sound makes conversation nearly impossible, but perhaps that’s the design of contemporary gathering places.

Next, there has to be enough light so that one can read the menu unaided, and while we’re at it, how about a menu with a font large enough to allow reading without bifocals? (How on earth can you be romantic as you fumble endlessly for your glasses?)

Another element is a waitstaff which has enough sense to refer to the customers not as folks but as sir and ma’am. I hate being a “folk.” I might dress like one, but I do not think of myself as one. Oh, and they should never interrupt ongoing conversation as they do now with such glittering inquiries as, “Everything alright, folks,” or “Would you like to hear our specials tonight?”
They should wait until the punch line to the joke has been revealed, the proposal made, the toast completed. We are the main event, not them.

Like many others, I have gotten accustomed to the piece of salmon draped like a chiropractor’s patient over a semi-mound of garlic mashed potatoes, while swirls of God-knows-what decorate the plate, with the inevitable artistic dessert to conclude the meal.

In truth, what I would really like is a slab of medium rare roast beef, a baked potato, a salad with good old Rocquefort dressing, and about three popovers, along with a bottle of decent red wine, all finished off with a hot fudge sundae.

So I’m thinking about opening a restaurant called O.F’s. When I suggested the name at our meal, one of us said that Old Folks might be not quite appropriate as a name for a restaurant.

All I could do was smile….

Cheers,

Nick