 |
||||||||
 |
||||||||
|
||||||||
|
Dining out with a savvy small fry
By JANET K. KEELER, Times Staff Writer Eating out used to be reserved for birthdays, job promotions and graduations. When I was growing up, my family never ate at restaurants simply because Mom was too tired to cook or because baseball practice dragged on until 7:30 p.m. The girls put on dresses, the guys ties, and we usually went to the Officers' Club of whatever Navy base we lived on at the time. They were stressful outings for us kids, even though Dad did let us order anything on the menu. We didn't go out often enough to know how to act, so we sat board straight, anticipating a stern look at the inevitable misstep. The meal always started slowly as we suffered through cocktails and appetizers. We downed treacly Shirley Temples in seconds while the adults sipped martinis or Manhattans or something else equally repulsive. After dinner, they ordered coffee. Were they trying to kill us? How much longer would that take? Let's go, we whined. How times have changed. About 70 percent of American families eat a meal away from home at least once a week, according to a 1997 Bureau of Labor survey. The average annual expenditure on restaurant and takeout meals was $1,477 per family, nearly 31 percent of total food expenditures. With more and more families crunched for time and ever-increasing fast-food options, eating out is not the occasional, special event it used to be. It's standard operating procedure one or two nights a week. Anymore, it's a rare restaurant that doesn't have a kids' menu. A packet of crayons and drawable menu for every child is de rigueur. A restaurant that helps keep children occupied while waiting for food endears itself to parents. My son has eaten in more restaurants in his 61/2 years than I had by the time I was 20. He knows the drill: wait to be seated, order drinks, look at the menu. First comes the salad, soup or appetizer, then the entree and afterward a scoop of vanilla ice cream if he's behaved. He can ask the waiter for more Sprite, please, and says "thank you" when it comes. We are still working on keeping the napkin in his lap. He knows that a quiet game of I Spy is acceptable but piling up packets of sugar and "pink stuff" to make a fort is a no-no. Likewise, using the fork as a catapult. It was not always so. I remember sitting with him on a bench outside a lovely Pismo Beach, Calif., restaurant while my relatives enjoyed dinner and each other's company inside. He wasn't misbehaving so much as he was babbling at the top of his tiny lungs, a definite disruption in the quaint Italian restaurant. Early on, my main goal was to keep him quiet; forget the etiquette lessons. Several times he slithered under the table where he sat for the last 10 minutes or so of the meal. The floor was dirty and I hated the whole idea of it, but he wasn't bothering anyone and never contracted any dreadful diseases. Every one of us has sat near a caterwauling child whose parents are oblivious to our death-ray stares. That's because most of them are sweating bullets trying to figure out how to get the kid to calm down. At 1 and 2 years old, it's difficult for a child to understand that hollering is not interesting to the couple at the next table. When my son was very young, I ejected us from a couple of places because I expected him to be quiet when he could not. We were on vacation and needed to eat. We don't take him to fancy restaurants, but rather stick to large, noisy places that welcome children. When we want to enjoy some adult time we hire a babysitter. I am not fond of sitting next to a child hypnotized by a Game Boy, even with the sound off, when I'm paying $100 for dinner. (Though I did it once with my own child at a family gathering. The waiter wondered if the light on the Game Boy was bad for his eyes.) We try to be mindful that our son's socialization not rattle other people's peace of mind. Or ours. Like many children, he likes to play restaurant at home and operates a rigidly run joint called Crab Fil-A. They can make anything you want, he says, but when you order you find that most items are either gone or are on the kids' menu, which is off-limits to moms and dads who are 100 years old. The most expensive item is Diet Coke for $42, but you can get a glass of wine for $4, the pricing reflecting the libation he prizes more. "Salmom" is $21, but a cup of pea soup is just a buck. On his order pad he has added the word "Tip" and a line on which the diner (me) is required to write yes or no. This is in response to a terrible experience we had at a Sanibel restaurant where for the first time in my life I left no tip at all. This made quite an impression on him, and every time we've eaten out since he asks, loudly, "Are you gonna leave a tip?" At Crab Fil-A, the proprietor wants to know ahead of time, in writing, your tip intentions. The service tends toward sloppy, but the creative marketing ("Hurry up and order, we're closing!") wins me over every time. He's not being raised like I was, with a home-cooked meal on the table every night at 6 p.m. I assuage my guilt by knowing that he can handle himself in a public place with pint-size aplomb. He's never had a Shirley Temple, though. Come to think of it, I've never had a Manhattan. - Janet K. Keeler can be reached at (727) 893-8586 or by e-mail at krieta@sptimes.com.
 © 2006 • All Rights Reserved • Tampa Bay Times
490 First Avenue South • St. Petersburg, FL 33701 • 727-893-8111 
|
From the Times Taste section From the features wire |
