Do you remember that crush from high school that you just adored. You thought about them everyday and you dressed with them in mind every morning. You thought they were the cutest and coolest and that they were looking at you just now when you were walking down the hall.You played a different kind of Four Square with your fold out paper game determining how many kids you would have; what your house together would look like and where you would honeymoon. You stood in giddy suspense as they signed your yearbook; feeling confident that "You are sweet, good luck next year" translated to "I am going to marry you some day."
And only in hindsight do you realize that they never even knew you existed.
Fast forward to years down the road; and you run into this boy you spent four good years of your life addicted to. You can't see the resemblance; clearly, the one you crushed on never really existed.
Well I have been crushing on Bob's Small Town Grille in Royston for a few years now. Clearly, high school taught me nothing. Bob doesn't know I exist and I gush over his restaurant and food as if he just wrote "Will you come and work in my restaurant some day?" in my The Professional Chef workbook.
But this past weekend, I ran into Bob and his grille. I couldn't see the resemblance. There was a festival going on in downtown Royston; which can be lent to forgive some of the reasons' the Grille didn't resemble anything I had been crushing on; like the flies covering our corner booth; or the straw, silverware, and pile of crumbs and cracker wrappers I had to step over in order to get into the seat. I mean the day must have been busy; although it is Royston. The festival was a block or two long; not Athfest after all.
There was a limited menu, understandable again; by all accounts this festival was going to bring a lot more patrons then a typical Saturday. Only 5 or 6 items on the menu. I ordered the Jerk Chicken and Black Bean Wrap. My friend ordered a bowl of chili. When our food arrived my friend's chili was in a bowl that it only half filled. Which I didn't really think to judge the portion as much as I just wondered why the bowl was allowed to arrive at a table showing signs of already giving out 10 to 12 test taste bites. There was no garnish, no crackers or cornbread offered to give the chili companionship. And visually; it clearly needed a companion. My wrap arrived on a clear plate with obvious fingerprints all around the plate. Like the glass door at the store after story time toddlers have had their way with it. It was tightly wrapped and straight up cut in equal halves, the wrap that is...and that is as exciting as the presentation was going to get. Part way through the first half I found a tomato; and likewise after I dug through a bit of the second half I discovered lettuce. Which combined made me wonder who ran into who in the kitchen. Before long I could hear Bob at our table asking 'how is everything folks?' oh no; keep your head low Sharyn. 'Good'; says my friend.
'How is that wrap?' counters Bob; I am screwed. I raise my eyes to meet his and I say ~ 'Great, thanks.'
Looked him straight in the eye and lied.
Now I know that I am not intimidated by Bob's Small Town Grille anymore. I don't need to practice different cooking techniques or out do his cheesy grits. I don't need to make a better burger or serve a better table. I saw Bob's Small Town Grill in its bald, overweight, mid life crisis state; the one you don't recognize from your crush. He still doesn't know I exist, I presume; but I am a lot less intimidated by his (restaurant's) existence and a lot less concerned that he ever write in my yearbook (cookbook).
And only in hindsight do you realize that they never even knew you existed.
Fast forward to years down the road; and you run into this boy you spent four good years of your life addicted to. You can't see the resemblance; clearly, the one you crushed on never really existed.
Well I have been crushing on Bob's Small Town Grille in Royston for a few years now. Clearly, high school taught me nothing. Bob doesn't know I exist and I gush over his restaurant and food as if he just wrote "Will you come and work in my restaurant some day?" in my The Professional Chef workbook.
But this past weekend, I ran into Bob and his grille. I couldn't see the resemblance. There was a festival going on in downtown Royston; which can be lent to forgive some of the reasons' the Grille didn't resemble anything I had been crushing on; like the flies covering our corner booth; or the straw, silverware, and pile of crumbs and cracker wrappers I had to step over in order to get into the seat. I mean the day must have been busy; although it is Royston. The festival was a block or two long; not Athfest after all.
There was a limited menu, understandable again; by all accounts this festival was going to bring a lot more patrons then a typical Saturday. Only 5 or 6 items on the menu. I ordered the Jerk Chicken and Black Bean Wrap. My friend ordered a bowl of chili. When our food arrived my friend's chili was in a bowl that it only half filled. Which I didn't really think to judge the portion as much as I just wondered why the bowl was allowed to arrive at a table showing signs of already giving out 10 to 12 test taste bites. There was no garnish, no crackers or cornbread offered to give the chili companionship. And visually; it clearly needed a companion. My wrap arrived on a clear plate with obvious fingerprints all around the plate. Like the glass door at the store after story time toddlers have had their way with it. It was tightly wrapped and straight up cut in equal halves, the wrap that is...and that is as exciting as the presentation was going to get. Part way through the first half I found a tomato; and likewise after I dug through a bit of the second half I discovered lettuce. Which combined made me wonder who ran into who in the kitchen. Before long I could hear Bob at our table asking 'how is everything folks?' oh no; keep your head low Sharyn. 'Good'; says my friend.
'How is that wrap?' counters Bob; I am screwed. I raise my eyes to meet his and I say ~ 'Great, thanks.'
Looked him straight in the eye and lied.
Now I know that I am not intimidated by Bob's Small Town Grille anymore. I don't need to practice different cooking techniques or out do his cheesy grits. I don't need to make a better burger or serve a better table. I saw Bob's Small Town Grill in its bald, overweight, mid life crisis state; the one you don't recognize from your crush. He still doesn't know I exist, I presume; but I am a lot less intimidated by his (restaurant's) existence and a lot less concerned that he ever write in my yearbook (cookbook).
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