Western Spaghetti

Apologies, Dear Readers, for the unscheduled break for... technical difficulties. Right. That was it. It totally wasn't because I was busy and forgot until I was nearly asleep for the last week or so.

In any case, let me tell you of a strange thing which happened today.

Today, as happens every so often, the Walrus' parents came to visit. When they do this, they like to take us out to dinner. A fairly normal problem with this habit is that we can't think of anywhere to go. So tonight, a steak place was suggested, and we decided to ask the giant brain of humanity: the internet.

The internet thought of a couple of places, the closer of which was a restaurant which shall be known as The Corral. Given the name and the many reviews saying that it was good, we had a reasonable expectation of getting some good steak. So off we drove to the Corral.

We entered the Corral and were met with a bizarre sight: a sports bar-like atmosphere at the entrance with Western decor on the brick walls, but bright lights and fancy place settings on the tables. The empty tables. There was one guy at the bar, and one small family in the restaurant itself. Over the speakers came the sounds of a light-rock radio station. But it had gotten good reviews, so we decided to stick it out.

In confusion, we sat and looked at our menus. The menu contained two steak products: steak tips and a sirloin. Instead of the anticipated cow feast, we found ourselves presented with a very typical Italian menu. After much hemming and hawing, we again decided that we would stick it out- we were too hungry to find another place.

Our waitress, although clearly an established member of the small staff, was very inexperienced and slow. There was one other waitress, but she spent all her time chatting with the family that was already seated.

The Walrus brought up the fact that there was a sign outside saying the ownership had recently changed. How long ago were those reviews? Before they decided to have an Italian restaurant in a steak joint, apparently!

Meanwhile, in between getting our appetizers and ordering our main courses (yes), someone hit the jukebox with a country western song. Right over top of the light-rock radio and the hockey game on TV. After a few minutes of acoustic bombardment, we finally caught a waitress and asked her to get one or the other turned off. Eventually it did.

At one point, right behind me, I heard our waitress sing (off key and not in time with the jukebox song anyways), "Rock the beat!"

By this point, we have decided that we've definitely lost our hats* and run into a surrealist restaurant. Perhaps they should rename it the Frosty Chicken**!



* http://www.girlgeniusonline.com/comic.php?date=20031017
Also, a nod to the spaghetti western tradition of hats taking bullets for the hero.

** See story to come.