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restaurant stress
Friday, October 16 1998
I don't derive any satisfaction out of spending large amounts of money. Indeed, the more money I spend, the less enjoyment I am able to get out of what I'm buying. Thus, when I eat out, I generally like to go to the cheap places where the scruffy guys in the back happen to know how to cook. I don't care especially about atmosphere, except that the more of a dive it is, the better I like it. I don't patronize places that try to set the socio-economic group of their customers by flexing the prices of their wares. Roberto's Tacos on Adams Avenue is my idea of the ideal dining experience. I love to eat my tacos and watch the little brown boys playing video games. Since I don't especially enjoy drinking alcohol while I'm eating, the fact that Roberto's serves none is not an issue for me at all.
Tonight, though, Kim was informed that the starting date of a highly-paid massage therapy position she'd been given had been moved up to only two weeks from now. She wanted to celebrate, and how else to celebrate (for her) but dinner at a fancy restaurant? She'd read good reviews of a place called The Gulf Coast Grill down between University Heights and Hillcrest, so that's where we went. She was looking beautiful and obscenely youthful in her little black velvet dress and $10 London Underground platform shoes.
Dinner went badly. Though I tried somewhat, I couldn't conceal my shock at the prices. The cheapest "supper" was $13.95 and the wine we had at the bar while waiting for a table was $6 per glass. I couldn't help but reflect on the many occasions of far greater fun I've had with a group of friends and a $12 spacebag of vino; we never ate in snooty restaurants then, we sat out on the railroad tracks or in the middle of the woods, either smoking pot or feeling the vague sexual tension like just another drug in our kit o'fun.
The staff was so nice that we kept our fighting down to a dull roar except for one occasion when Kim said I was being incredibly rude (and so I offered her all my money if I could just walk home right then).
Kim's contention was that this, the experience of dining in a classy restaurant, was "art" and that our eating here was "supporting the arts." She said that fine food was one of her weaknesses and that there was nothing wrong with us doing something like this once every month or two, stressing all the money we're now earning. The fact that I'm making so much money now didn't matter to me. No matter how much money I have, I'll never enjoy a dining experience that costs the majority of what I make in a day of hard and at times frustrating work. That's akin to going to a prostitute (at best) or even getting a speeding ticket. The memories I'd be getting in exchange: of the fine food and the snooty affluent atmosphere, just weren't worth it.
But the Gulf Coast Grill had a New Orleans thing going on (tainted to some extent by a Southwestern Tex-Mex influence). And if there's anything Kim is a sucker for, it's things New Orleans. I find her obsession with New Orleans somewhat irritating, but I indulge her (though of course she indulges far more of my irritating traits). The food really was excellent and I'd never had fried green tomatoes before. But I still couldn't justify the expenditure. I felt guilty and vaguely sick, like the restaurant was draining away my very life force.
Kim wondered why I hadn't reacted in this way back the first time we ate out at a fancy restaurant (the day after we met). I told her I didn't know, that it was rooted in my subconscious, but perhaps back in July I considered a fancy meal to be a "good investment." Now that I "have the girl," fancy meals just hurt. Kim said that if she'd known I was such a cheapskate back in the day she would have never fallen in love with me, but now that she is in love she'll just have to somehow learn to deal with my "problem."
Despite the outrageous price, we drank a lot of wine, and eventually it healed my condition enough that I could sit back and have a reasonably good time. But I still couldn't reconcile the fact that we were spending an enormous amount of money in exchange for what was, on the whole, a moderately bad evening. No matter how much I earn, I'll never be one to throw away cash on petty luxuries.
Back at the cabana in Normal Heights, we lay down, ostensibly "just for half an hour" before heading out to meet one of Kim's friends downtown in the Gas Lamp district. But when we finally woke up it was 1:00am so we just said screw it.
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