He Didn't Go to Business School for Nothin.
Today was a day of much celebrating in the MarthaWho household. Today, we dined at the Olive Garden.
Why the jubilation? you might ask. Why would a family of serious foodies celebrate a totally blandified, pseudo Italian, tackily decorated, mass-marketed pop-up dining establishment like the Olive Garden? To which I would respond, GOOD QUESTION.
I could whip up a long answer about the constraints of dining with a feisty two year old, or the pre-menstrual siren-like lure of all-you-can-eat breadsticks. But the real reason we are celebrating our visit to the OG is simply because we actually got in.
In city with a freakishly high ratio of phenomenal restaurants to year-round residents, the wild success of the Olive Garden has been somewhat of a mystery to us. The parking lot is always filled to overflowing, and the line outside the door, in any iteration of Maine weather, resembles an LA red carpet premiere. Certainly the masses knew something we did not about the treasures awaiting beyond the grapevine-encrusted threshhold. Having never been to an Olive Garden, our interest was piqued. We knew we needed to see for ourselves.
Alas, our repeated attempts to dine at the OG were denied. Snotty teenage hostesses with delusions of Sardi's grandeur offered us hour-plus waits or a takeout menu and reminded us of the merits of "call-ahead seating" as they shooed us past the throngs of patiently waiting pasta-lovers on our way to the parking lot. Our disastrous failure to dine at the Olive Garden during our first 6 months as Maine residents breeded a near-obsession with actually accomplishing this dubious goal. Nonetheless, we never made it past the hostess. Until today.
I wish I could say that our entrees were surprisingly innovative or delectable, but I'm afraid I can only say what I'm sure you already know to be true -- that they were just... fine. The service, while not smashing, was certainly... adequate. The entire experience was pleasant enough, but nothing to write home about, and certainly nothing we'd ever wait sixty, or even sixteen, minutes for under any circumstance. Our insatiable curiousity had been quelled. The beast was at rest.
But why the wild success?
Mr. MarthaWho, over his parmesan encrusted tilapia, made a compelling case that the Olive Garden is a business that simply knows its constituency. That they've done a damn fine job of researching and understanding their market. He pointed out, among other things, the double size portions, the "bottomless" salad and breadsticks, and -- perhaps most appallingly -- the fact that our well-padded, indestructible wooden rolling chairs were about 1.5 times the size of a normal restaurant chair. In a time where 60% of Americans are battling obesity, the Olive Garden has made it OK to come out and eat an oversize (bottomless, even!) portion, in an oversize chair built to withstand the weight of the Eiffel Tower, while teenage servers gleefully shred cheese on anything not nailed down. The fact that the OG succeeds as a PASTA joint in this carb-wary Atkins-obsessed era is also seemingly worthy of admiration.
Mr. MarthaWho makes a good point. Perhaps the marketing strategy behind this gluttonous fantasyworld is the Olive Garden's biggest success story of them all.
Now, can anyone explan WTF "call-ahead seating" is???
Why the jubilation? you might ask. Why would a family of serious foodies celebrate a totally blandified, pseudo Italian, tackily decorated, mass-marketed pop-up dining establishment like the Olive Garden? To which I would respond, GOOD QUESTION.
I could whip up a long answer about the constraints of dining with a feisty two year old, or the pre-menstrual siren-like lure of all-you-can-eat breadsticks. But the real reason we are celebrating our visit to the OG is simply because we actually got in.
In city with a freakishly high ratio of phenomenal restaurants to year-round residents, the wild success of the Olive Garden has been somewhat of a mystery to us. The parking lot is always filled to overflowing, and the line outside the door, in any iteration of Maine weather, resembles an LA red carpet premiere. Certainly the masses knew something we did not about the treasures awaiting beyond the grapevine-encrusted threshhold. Having never been to an Olive Garden, our interest was piqued. We knew we needed to see for ourselves.
Alas, our repeated attempts to dine at the OG were denied. Snotty teenage hostesses with delusions of Sardi's grandeur offered us hour-plus waits or a takeout menu and reminded us of the merits of "call-ahead seating" as they shooed us past the throngs of patiently waiting pasta-lovers on our way to the parking lot. Our disastrous failure to dine at the Olive Garden during our first 6 months as Maine residents breeded a near-obsession with actually accomplishing this dubious goal. Nonetheless, we never made it past the hostess. Until today.
I wish I could say that our entrees were surprisingly innovative or delectable, but I'm afraid I can only say what I'm sure you already know to be true -- that they were just... fine. The service, while not smashing, was certainly... adequate. The entire experience was pleasant enough, but nothing to write home about, and certainly nothing we'd ever wait sixty, or even sixteen, minutes for under any circumstance. Our insatiable curiousity had been quelled. The beast was at rest.
But why the wild success?
Mr. MarthaWho, over his parmesan encrusted tilapia, made a compelling case that the Olive Garden is a business that simply knows its constituency. That they've done a damn fine job of researching and understanding their market. He pointed out, among other things, the double size portions, the "bottomless" salad and breadsticks, and -- perhaps most appallingly -- the fact that our well-padded, indestructible wooden rolling chairs were about 1.5 times the size of a normal restaurant chair. In a time where 60% of Americans are battling obesity, the Olive Garden has made it OK to come out and eat an oversize (bottomless, even!) portion, in an oversize chair built to withstand the weight of the Eiffel Tower, while teenage servers gleefully shred cheese on anything not nailed down. The fact that the OG succeeds as a PASTA joint in this carb-wary Atkins-obsessed era is also seemingly worthy of admiration.
Mr. MarthaWho makes a good point. Perhaps the marketing strategy behind this gluttonous fantasyworld is the Olive Garden's biggest success story of them all.
Now, can anyone explan WTF "call-ahead seating" is???
posted by Martha Who? | 12:03 PM
3 Comments:
Call ahead seating = Olive Garden
The list = Outback Steakhouse
Reservations = polysyllabic communication that will die at the hands of the dumbing down of America that is the decline of western civilization.
For some odd reason, this entry of yours resonates with me more so (in my piss poor memory) as being the keenest of your observation. I've got this burr in my saddle about corporate America being the cancer of capitalism and Wal*Mart being its greatest malignancy. Your astute musings made me consider the gluttony of America in what I considered previously as a fairly benign little corner.
I can't rightly recall the last time I ever was in an OG, but it had to have been nearly 10 years ago. This fact isn't stated to brag. But, ten years ago, I wasn't caring about the evils of the world too much. I was just into the bread sticks 'cause I had the munchies from smoking some KB. Anyhoo, your business savvy husband nails it in his observation that the OG extols gluttony on every level, down to the seating. It is not just that they heap the food on needlessly (i.e. one person doesn't need and shouldn't eat that much, ever) and hurt the chances of mom and pop shops; they also eliminate the full potential of a regional or local culture to develop. The seating thing is just a great example of how something so initially benign can be so terribly detrimental in the deeper analysis.
Again, this is all sort of a downer, but your content really stirred some thought up in me. Clearly, right? It just reinforces my opinion that every dollar you spend is the same as a vote. You buy, you endorse, you affect the economy and culture around you.
All that being said, if I ever find out you ever go to an OG again, you will be dead to me. *Kidding*
You GO’ on Girl!
RightEOUS dude! So long, farewell, and A-MEN.
And I promise there will be no dining at the Oh-Gee in our future (if we can help it).
Breadsticks be damned!
This was one fantastic post!
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