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Chain restaurants.

Oh geeze, how do I put this delicately?

I don’t like to eat in chain restaurants.

If only one business model dies out from this tanking American economy please dear God let it be the Chain Restaurant.

Well okay, that’s not strictly true. I like Denny’s. But even then, you know what you’re getting and it ain’t good. You’re there because you’re craving maple-flavored corn syrup and canola oil hash browns or ranch dressing with a side of ranch. You crave not French toast but Denny’s French toast.

They don’t try to dress their food up and turn it into something it isn’t. They know their niche and they stick to it.

But the same cannot be said for the insidious Chain Restaurant that touts their “authentic, just-like-grandma [insert ethnic-sounding 1940's era name here] used to make”

That makes me hopping mad. Unless you are, of course, talking about [ethnic-sounding 1940's era name] grandma that ordered from ethnic Chain Restaurants instead of cooking. Because I am fairly certain no one has a grandma that used to make swill like the swill available for too much money down at the mall.

I’m speaking specifically here of the Olive Garden.

Oh what a bastardization of Italian food!

Oh what a slap in the face to all those Nonnas and Zias and Madres who cook the diverse cuisines of Italy. Tuscany, Abruzzi and Emilia-Romanga, just the names of these areas conjure up images of dishes I have tried (unsuccessfully) to forget when dining at the Olive Garden.

I know I’m being a snobbish about this but there are people out there that understand what I am talking about. YOU know what I’m talking about:

The Olive Garden is about as Italian as Hooters.

Wait, I take that back. I can’t rightly say that because I’ve never eaten at Hooters. I will endeavor to test this theory and report back to you on it.

But alas, I digress.

For me, the two reasons to eat at the Olive Garden are as follows:

1. You are stuck in Spokane, WA at a Water Quality Trade show and there is no other place to escape the fact that you are attending a Water Quality trade show in Spokane, WA other than the local Olive Garden.
2. You are forced to eat there by a family member at least 45 years your senior. (Interestingly, this is the only reason I have found to actually eat at Applebee’s. But that, my friends, is another rant all together)

And then Christmas happened.

And, from a very nice person, intending nothing but Holiday Cheer and Good Will towards everyone,  I received a $25 gift certificate.

…to the Olive Garden.

“Oh well” I thought “At least I can take my grandmother out to dinner sometime.”

But that is not what happened. Nope. I am now wishing that is what happened but no, I am not so lucky.

You see, this evening, as we were rushing around trying to prepare for tomorrow’s festivities, I had the bright idea of ordering take away from (dear Lord help me) the Olive Garden. And for reasons I am not myself sure of, my husband agreed.  I figured I would order something with the least possible chance of offense the: Chicken Caesar Salad. My husband ordered something called “Chianti braised short ribs”

What we actually got was a wordlessly eloquent lesson in just exactly why the Olive Garden is never a good idea. Please let me explain with visual aides.

This is what the menu says Brian ordered:

Tender boneless beef short ribs slow cooked in a chianti wine sauce. Served with portobello mushroom risotto and steamed vegetables.

What he actually got was a mass of greasy pork ribs hussied up with what appeared, at first blush, to be risotto and vegetables but which turned out to be some bastard’s idea of a sick joke. Here is what the “portobello mushroom risotto and steamed vegetables” looked like:

Did you get a good look at that? Here, let’s get a little closer:

Along side this monstrosity we received six (6) bread sticks.  I am assuming this is to fill you up enough so that you don’t actually want to try the risotto. Or perhaps they were meant for all the stray livestock roaming our neighborhood because they were so salty I imagine only a being whose diet consists mainly of hay and raw grains being able to digest one without suffering from hypernatraemic dehydration.

However I could be wrong. They may have been included to make up for the train wreck I ordered.

It should have looked like this:

What I received was a plastic tub of dry lettuce, 13 croutons and a few shreds of parmesan-esque cheese-like product. This was accompanied by four (4) pats of butter and a small baggie containing six (6) more croutons.

That’s all.

I was so angry about it that I couldn’t take a picture. I called the restaurant manager instead.  I don’t know what the hell I thought I would accomplish by calling but it seemed the right thing to do. Of course, what happened next I should have seen coming.

After asking the girl answering the phone if it is the Olive Garden’s policy to sell take-away salad without dressing she promptly (and more kindly than I deserved) put me on hold to speak with the manager.

Once the manager came on I tried like hell to keep the yell out of my voice because, lets face it, the person I’m talking to is the Week-Night Manager of an Olive Garden. They don’t really need any more shit than they already have to deal with on a regular basis. But I was on a warpath so on I ranted.

What the heck was I supposed to do with a bowl of dry lettuce and croutons? I live about 30 minutes away- did she expect me to come back to get the dressing? Because NO WAY was that going to happen. NO (FECKING) WAY.

Okay, I didn’t actually swear or even yell (because that’s just mean). But I thought really hard about it!

Wow, I’m really sorry! That’s really frustrating that you have to deal with that! We’re certainly going to compensate you for that!

All canned text straight from the corporate “How to deal with an Irate Customer” handbook; her voice laced with fake sympathy. She didn’t care that I was hungry; that I had a crappy day and that I never wanted the fecking crappy salad to begin with. The fact that it was an incomplete , crappy fecking salad just made it all the worse. And now she was presenting me with the corporate answer to a customer enraged by their crappy fecking salad:

. . . a $30 gift certificate to the Olive Garden.

Good Lord what did I do to deserve this?