Hard to Swallow

I have so many reservations about this.

I loved going out to eat as a kid. It was a special adventure, from choosing anything on the menu to playing Wikki Stix while the waiter brings me a fifth Shirley Temple. We should do this every night, I thought to myself, not truly understanding the concept of money. As I got older, the novelty wore off, bored of the adult conversation and incessant waiting. I also had my fair share of teenage angst years, where everything sucked and I could barely utter one-word answers to lame questions by my uncool parents. Not exactly the perfect dinner date.

Then came college, cash was scarce, and Top Ramen and Natty Light highlighted the daily menu. It was only when I evolved to a contributing member of society did I appreciate good food, good drinks and good company. I even developed into a wannabe foodie in my late twenties, thinking my affinity for Top Chef and happy hour wine tastings made me an acclaimed food critic. Pack your knives and go.

But that was all a distant dream. The very harsh reality of the present is navigating restaurants with small humans intent on destroying their surroundings, putting on a show that no one asked for, and—oh yeah—eating absolutely nothing. Want to go out to eat? Let’s just flush some twenties down the toilet, grab some aspirin and call it a day.

Recently, our family visited a casual Italian restaurant down the street from our house for an “easy” weeknight dinner at 5:30 p.m., the early bird special for kids and old people. As we were shown to our seats, my oldest daughter leaned too heavily on a laminated menu, lost her balance, slammed her head on the table, missed the chair on the way down, and ended in a heap on the floor. Not even a minute later, my other daughter knocked a bread plate into a shattered oblivion on the tile below. “I don’t want to eat anything here!,” she yelled as the manager swept up the mess and confirmed this indeed was not a practical joke. This is all within the first five minutes.

And the train wreck continued throughout the meal. My 3-year-old had to visit the bathroom no less than four times (only one of which yielded any results), we tried to break the record for most menacing glances by other restaurant patrons, and my kids ate three bites of a cheese pizza that took 45 minutes to cook. Check, please! As we walked back to the car, I could faintly hear applause from the waitstaff.

I thought it would get easier as the gremlins aged. When they were in highchairs and dined mostly on green and orange mush, I had to keep them occupied with rattlers and chewable books. Regrettably, both girls ate their fair share of sugar packets and crayons. Now, they have range free across the restaurant, play under the table, and scream loudly for no apparent reason. And every time we go out, it becomes a story.

Here are highlights from the last five times we ventured out of the house for food.

1. After complaining of a tummy ache, my daughter Ella proceeded to crush an entire orange juice container and immediately vomit over the table and our food.

2. “This is disgusting. I hate this food,” said one of my kids, as she spit out a full mouthful on her plate directly in front of the server and a line cook.

3. The timeless tradition of a hibachi family night out turned into disaster, as the chef’s onion volcano fire got a little too close to my 5-year-old Saoirse. She is now afraid of fire, including candles, fire pits and songs about yule logs.

4. During a relatively uneventful dining experience, we ordered a second round of drinks (crazy, right!?) and one of my loudmouth offspring shouted, “Wow, Dad, that’s a lot of beer. You really like beer. You drink it alllllllll the time. You must really love beer.” Thank you, child.

5. One pizza spot had a claw arcade game. $40 later, Ella won nothing and melted down. She went on a hunger strike and refused to sit with anyone. We ate our slices watching our kid have a very loud temper tantrum in an empty booth. We were then asked to leave.

On the rare occasion when my wife and I go out by ourselves, I have phantom chaos syndrome. I wait for spills, tantrums and tears that never come. It feels odd to not tell someone to take that straw out of their nose. But over time, the calmness settles in and I allow myself to enjoy the moment. It’s almost as fun as when I was a kid.

I think I’ll take another Shirley Temple…with vodka, please.