Growing up, there was really only one restaurant in town: The Rustic Oak. Sure, we had fast food places – McDonald’s, Arby’s, Arthur Treacher’s Fish & Chips – but The Oak was the only spot for a **good** meal.
The two things I remember most about The Oak was the massive fireplace that was always roaring (and the stacked wood outside the front door to keep it going) and their soup and salad bar. The salad bar wasn’t anything fancy – tan tubs of iceberg lettuce, grape tomatoes, olives, bacon bits that could crack your teeth, and croutons nestled in ice under a brightly lit sneeze guard – but as a kid, unlimited anything was exciting. If you saw me and my parents at the Rustic Oak in the 80s, we were probably celebrating something.
I don’t remember eating out much growing up, unless we were on vacation. And even then, when we would go to the Jersey Shore every year, we’d stay in an efficiency hotel room, equipped with a small kitchenette, where my mother would cook dinner for us after the beach a few nights during our week-long stay. The hotel hallway would smell like fried chicken cutlets all night.
Most of my restaurant meals were Happy Meals picked up from the drive thru after church on Saturday nights. My treat with my babysitter while my parents went out for the night. And when we did go out! Man, did those nights feel luxurious. It’s probably what led to my obsession with restaurants and food and eating out today.
I LOVE EATING AT RESTAURANTS.
Like, really love it. I would eat out every single night if I could. And it’s not because I don’t like to cook – because I do – but I just like having someone cook for me even more. I love reading menus and eating. I love to eat. My Insta feed is filled with deliciously plated foods and fancy cocktails, with the occasional sweater-wearing dachshund mixed in.
In what could only be described as a cruel twist of fate, I am raising a child who does NOT like to eat out. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE??
To be clear: Little Mister likes restaurant food, but he wants to eat it at home (the place where – after you eat your meal – no one cleans up after you and does the dishes and offers you dessert).
Every weekend when Mr. KK and I are ready to leave the house and relax with an adult beverage and a meal cooked by someone who is not Yours Truly, the negotiating begins.
“Where are we going?”
“What kind of food is it?”
“What else is there to do there?”
“Is anyone else coming with us?”
“Can I watch a movie while I’m there?”
After a long week, I don’t want to see the inside of my kitchen – for cooking or for eating. Instead, let’s enjoy each other’s company, take our time easing into the weekend, enjoy some delicious food, and revel in the fact that we don’t need to clean up!
(Also, if parents say we’re going out to eat, WE’RE GOING OUT TO EAT!)
Life of kk 