Buffalo Wild Wings
This weekend, I drove out to the suburbs to drop off Morgan, who is staying with my brother this week as I venture into the urban tangle of New York.
I was quite hungry by the time I got to Elgin, so Matt and I decided to get some lunch. Searching for a place to eat, we drove up and down the dead zone that is Randall Road, a former country lane that is now lined with strip malls, "lifestyle centers," and big box retailers for what seems about fifty miles.
As we passed by the Applebees, the McDonalds, the Steak and Shakes, we laughingly reminisced about the time we were looking for a place to eat in Crystal Lake, Illinois (another exurban pit) and ended up going to Chilli's. Once seated, we ordered every form of fried food known to man -- and both walked out feeling miserable.
You wouldn't think that two averagely bright fellows would let history repeat itself ... but ...
After much discussion, we finally decided on a restaurant called Buffalo Wild Wings in Algonquin. The first danger sign was when I ordered my six boneless wings. The waitress said, "Would you like celery with that?" I said sure -- at which point she informed me it would cost an extra forty cents. And if I wanted some blue cheese dressing to go with my celery, she'd be happy to charge me forty cents more.
And when the food finally arrived, things got worse. They didn't bother to give us any silverware or plates -- just paper containers and plastic forks. And, to go with Matt's chicken tenders, they provided a tiny plastic cup of barbeque sauce, labeled just like you might find in a supermarket.
And for all this, we were paying ten bucks each (plus the forty cents for a couple celery sticks). We could have gotten the same quality of meal at McDonalds for a couple greenbacks.
The rest of the afternoon, I was not only bemoaning the high price we paid for such a mediocre meal -- but the rumbles of pain coming from my stomach after ingesting so much grease in such a short period of time.
Life in the suburbs, I guess.
I was quite hungry by the time I got to Elgin, so Matt and I decided to get some lunch. Searching for a place to eat, we drove up and down the dead zone that is Randall Road, a former country lane that is now lined with strip malls, "lifestyle centers," and big box retailers for what seems about fifty miles.
As we passed by the Applebees, the McDonalds, the Steak and Shakes, we laughingly reminisced about the time we were looking for a place to eat in Crystal Lake, Illinois (another exurban pit) and ended up going to Chilli's. Once seated, we ordered every form of fried food known to man -- and both walked out feeling miserable.
You wouldn't think that two averagely bright fellows would let history repeat itself ... but ...
After much discussion, we finally decided on a restaurant called Buffalo Wild Wings in Algonquin. The first danger sign was when I ordered my six boneless wings. The waitress said, "Would you like celery with that?" I said sure -- at which point she informed me it would cost an extra forty cents. And if I wanted some blue cheese dressing to go with my celery, she'd be happy to charge me forty cents more.
And when the food finally arrived, things got worse. They didn't bother to give us any silverware or plates -- just paper containers and plastic forks. And, to go with Matt's chicken tenders, they provided a tiny plastic cup of barbeque sauce, labeled just like you might find in a supermarket.
And for all this, we were paying ten bucks each (plus the forty cents for a couple celery sticks). We could have gotten the same quality of meal at McDonalds for a couple greenbacks.
The rest of the afternoon, I was not only bemoaning the high price we paid for such a mediocre meal -- but the rumbles of pain coming from my stomach after ingesting so much grease in such a short period of time.
Life in the suburbs, I guess.
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