Table in the waaaay back for Two

Last weekend Hubby and I enjoyed our annual anniversary getaway to Santa Barbara . . and which goes without saying, has left me with gobs and gobs of foolishness to write about. It could be a ten part'er, but we'll start slow.

Hubby does not like to go to his restaurants uninformed. Any beach juvie or upper-crust wine aficionado host is not going to push Hubby around to take a seat, place his order, or pay the bill, --until he's good and ready. This leaves in its wake many a humiliating scenario through the years - some of which have even sent Bliss to tears - but let's go over the lighthearted parts instead.


We eat at a lot of the same restaurants each year, but also enjoy trying a new one. This time we looked into a place called Lucky's.

Oprah has a house in Montecito (next to Santa Barbara), and Lucky's is a steakhouse there (just to give you an idea of the neighborhood).
'Steakhouses' in Montecito don't charge the same, or act the same as, say, Burger Kings in North Hollywood.

It was clear to Hubby he would have to place a phone call ahead of time, and even before the usual hour spent circling the joint repeatedly to avoid valet parking, or picking apart a menu at the entrance until I want to scream.

When I think about it, I guess I do prefer his harassment be performed over the phone than in person, --but at the same time, the phone calls usually leave us starving before any real headway is even made . . and still a half hour away from the place.

This interrogation, I tried to disappear into the hotel bed sheets, while the echos of Hubby's tenth-degree, micro-restaurant-managing, bounced around the room like on megaphone, and shamed me into even further isolation. (Well, not complete isolation. I was crowded in bed with the four crescents and six jelly packets Hubby contraband'd from the hotel's continental breakfast bar.)

I can only hear his side of the conversation, - but it can't be good what's being said on the other half of the line -


"Hi - What time is your Early Bird Special?"
"Oh. Then what about a Senior Citizens discount - if we aren't quite seniors yet? I do look very old for my age---"
"But we're just visiting for the weekend, --so it shouldn't be that big of a deal--""I see -"
"Any coupons then?"
"I don't know why - the Montecito household income per-capita may be in the seven figures, but I'm sure they still like a good bargain . ."
"Alright, tell me this . . --About your children's menu--?"
"Yes, --just the two of us."
"No. Of course my wife's not sixteen years old---"
"But what if we cut it into baby pieces---"
"No?" Hubby mumbles under his breath and rolls his eyes at me ~~~
"Okay. But if we 'decide' to eat at your restaurant - I can tell you this about my wife . . she eats like a bird. ---You do offer those cracker packets at the buffet salad bar?"
"No buffet?--"
"I'll be darned. . . . I guess once we enjoy a couple of your complimentary bread baskets---"
". . . . What? You don't have bread baskets??---"
"Fine. --Then, if we could just bring in our own little bag of tortilla chips to snack on, --and use one of your bowls---"
"Oh. Well, it's not like we wouldn't order dinner . ."
"Alright."
"Nope."
"Okay."
"Now, --the steak salad. If she orders that, with extra steak on the side, --how much would, say, your baked potato be, a la carte, for me?"
"Uh? --"
" . . At your prices? Two dinners??""Yes, I understand. Okay. You gotta make a living too . . . "
"And so we're clear, while I hoof it in from the free parking at Shop'n'Go, --can my wife enjoy one dinner (since she will--theoretically--be dining alone until I get there) . . --and I'll just request a second plate for---""Hello? --Hello?"

"Can you believe that? --They hung up," Hubby calls out. He hasn't even broken a sweat.
" --You got any other picks, Hon?" He dares to ask . . while now I wouldn't want to touch a restaurant he's called with a ten-foot-pole----


Once, we studied a menu in front of a maitre'd' so long - the guy ripped it from Hubby's hands, and whacked him over the head with it. He told Hubby he'd had a fly on his head, but the maitre'd' and I exchanged a knowing look -- so I knew better.



Listen, loves a funny thing.
If this is only one of the thirty-two annoying bits
about my husband, that I have to put up with, -- I can
try and be a good sport.  Call me the the patron-saint-of-unromantic-dinners.

As long as I get my veggies steamed, and a chocolate
after dinner mint - I will try and be happy.