It was 9:30 on Saturday night when Ryan parked his old Ford Ranger in the Texas Roadhouse parking lot. Both of us were starving, so hungry that it had taken us an hour to decide where we wanted to eat; every sandwich shop, diner, and restaurant got our mouths watering. We were riding up Stillwater Avenue on the way to Oriental Jade when the bright lights of the Texas Roadhouse caught our eyes. In a second, our plan was changed and we were excited to indulge in the juicy steaks the restaurant is known for. It was Ryan’s birthday and before we got out of the truck he made me promise not to tell the waitress; he was terrified the servers would join forces to sing him an embarrassing happy birthday song. Instantly, my plan was foiled and while I was tempted to order a birthday cake anyways, I ultimately decided that on his birthday I would respect his wishes.
Hand in hand we walked into the surprisingly empty restaurant and were greeted by three bored hosts. All of them were dressed in dark denim jeans and a black Texas Roadhouse tee-shirt that said “I Love My Job!” on the back. The second we walked through the heavy wooden doors, the hosts, on autopilot, plastered smiles on their faces as they chimed “Welcome to the Texas Roadhouse, have you eaten with us before?”
“Yes we have,” Ryan answered.
“Terrific! I can seat you right now,” a thin girl with dark brown hair chirped. Leading us past a sparkly glass display case showcasing the prime cuts of steak she asked, “Would you be interested in picking out a steak for you meal tonight?”
“No thanks,” I said.
We walked past the nearly empty bar, vacant except for a group of three young men who were watching the basketball game on the flat screen TV’s on the wall. The host led us to an empty booth on the other side of the bar and said, “Lea will be right with you guys. Enjoy your meal!”
The hot buns waiting for us on the table were irresistible and I instantly reached out for one. I used my steak knife to butter the top of it with cinnamon butter and my stomach was satisfied for the first time all day. I grabbed a menu and began to peruse it. Tempted to order a burger, my usual standby, I made myself stick to my new rule of trying something new every time I went out to eat. “How come you’re not looking at the menu?” I asked Ryan who was intently watching the game on the mounted television behind me.
“I already know what I want,” he said. “An 11 oz. steak with a baked potato and a house salad.”
“Mmmm, the steak sounds good. Do they season it nicely?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s pretty much perfect,” he claimed.
Trusting his judgment and hungry for everything, I decided to order an 8 oz. steak cooked medium with a loaded baked potato and a Caesar salad. “Are you sure you don’t want a bigger one,” he asked.
I shook my head. “Nah, I think that’ll be big enough.
Lea, our server promptly arrived, greeting us over the loud country music. Even though it was too loud to think in the dining room, she rambled off her spiel like a pro, offering us margaritas for only $2.99. We ordered our food and two drinks. While we waited for our food to arrive, we munched on peanuts. Next to us, the section had been closed off and another thin server with dark brown hair furiously swept the floor littered with peanut shells and crumbs. “Is it just me, or does every single person who works here look exactly the same?” I asked Ryan.
“No you’re right. They’re like twins. At the Olive Garden you have to be blonde,” he said and I realized he was right. Every time I indulged in the Olive Garden’s soup, salad, and breadstick lunch my server was blonde, usually out of a box.
“You couldn’t work here,” he said. “Your hair’s not dark enough; you’d have to die it.”
Another brunette server arrived at our table, delivering our salads. The lettuce was perfectly crisp, a bright, healthy green and the kitchen had sprinkled it with generous amount of freshly-grated parmesan cheese. The homemade dressing was creamy but not too thick; it only took me three minutes to eat the entire bowl. Ryan doused his house salad with the Roadhouse’s homemade blue cheese dressing and after his first bite he let out a sigh of satisfaction. A different brunette server arrived with our steaks. They were seasoned perfectly and cooked to order. Mine was juicy and bloody; full of flavor. The potatoes were covered in sour cream and melted cheese, topped with crisp bacon bits. I slowly ate my meal, enjoying every bite until I couldn’t eat anymore. Ryan ate his quickly and finished my steak. “I told you I only needed an 8 oz. one,” I told him.
Conversation was difficult over the loud country music and Martina McBride belted out her hit “Independence Day.” So what do you want to do tonight?” I asked him.
“I’m not sure. It’s so cold out; I don’t really want to go out.”
“So you just want to go home?”
“Not sure yet, we’ll figure it out when we get home,” he said. “Besides, I’m happy just to be with you.”
The perky waitress checked in a few times to refill Ryan’s Coke and to remove our dirty plates. “How about a piece of homemade apple pie or a fudge sundae?” she asked.
Shaking my head I said, “No way. I. Am. Stuffed.”
“Alright then, I’ll be right back with your bill.”
Ryan looked at me from across the table. “I had a really nice time with you tonight. I was wondering if you wanted to get together again sometime. Say…tomorrow night?”
Laughing, I said “I’d love to, but I kinda have plans with my boyfriend. I could ditch him though…”
“Do it,” he said, a wide smile on his face.
“Do you want to meet at your place or mine?” I asked as we were walking to the truck to go home.
Very nicely enhanced--you've got a great way with dialogue, scene, moving events along. This reads very very smoothly.
ReplyDeleteFunny about the different color hair at the different franchises!