By now I’m sure you all realize that I am a bit of a clown. I spew this stuff out on this blog, relating my dining experiences to you, trying to educate a few along the way. The problem is that the people who need the educating are not the people reading it.

I was in Los Angeles last week, to see a friend’s band perform, and it left me with more tales of woe to share with you. When the busy server showed up at our table to take our order, I asked her for a bourbon. Her response was, “We have Jack Daniels, Jameson’s, and Cutty Sark.” Hmm. That’s great and all, but NONE OF THOSE ARE BOURBON! This is the United States. Bourbon capitol of the world. How can you not know the name of 1 bourbon back there?

Not Scotch-Bourbon!

I don’t expect every server to know what is in their bar (I really don’t), but knowing the difference between Scotch Whisky, Irish Whisky, and Tennessee Whisky is different. At least know that there is a difference. Not too much to ask. It would be one thing if it was some cheap dive, but this place was an expensive dive. If this was the only offense at this place, I could probably deal with it. BUT. This was just the beginning of many problems.

I try to shut it off

I know you don’t believe me, but I really do try to shut it off. But, it’s kind like when I tell myself before driving that this time is going to be different. This time I am going to be uber patient, and not get upset with other drivers on the road. And then every crazy driver on the planet heads right for me. Every possible thing that could go wrong, does go wrong.

Works that way when I go out, too. It’s a bit like Michael Corleone in ‘The Godfather Part 3’. I keep trying to get out and they keep pulling me back in!

What is a madman suppose to do?

I have probably told this one before, but it is a good one, and worth repeating: When we went out as a family (when my kids were much younger), my then 7-year-old youngest child would walk ahead of the rest of us with the host to the table to decide where every one was going to sit. By the time I reached the table she had already decided that Mom is sitting here, sister is sitting here, she is sitting here, and Dad is sitting there.

I would say, “You are 7 years old, who the hell are you that you get to decide where every one is sitting?” It dawned on me that she wanted to make sure that I couldn’t see anything in the dining room. Just the wall in front of me. At 7. Imagine my family’s hell since then.

Once again I am faced with this dilemma. I genuinely do like to go out, and plan on continuing to do so, but how can I learn to shut it off and enjoy it more?