He Said:
Holy crap do I hate chain restaurants. I’ve been accused of being elitist, uppity, condescending, snobby and a variety of less family friendly adjectives because of this. Most of that is true, but it doesn’t make my argument less valid.
So, here’s a little rant on why I don’t eat at chains. But I just checked in the driveway and found my High Horse there (usually my wife is riding it.), so this is actually more a rant about why YOU shouldn’t eat there. So get with the program.
Let’s get one thing out of the way first: Don’t be a dick. If your parents, extended family, out-of-town friends with whom you’re staying, parole officer, or whomever takes you to Olive Garden or Red Lobster for dinner and you whine that you ‘don’t eat at chains,’ you are a dick. If you have small children and do this, you are still a dick. A serving or two of high-fructuse corn-syrup won’t kill little Amelie and Aiden; you can compensate by popping in the audiobook of The Omnivore’s Dilemma on the way to the French Immersion School. And don’t tweet, Facebook, or for Christ’s sake blog about your purgatorial evening with the culinary Philistines after the fact. (Yeah, I know I’m mixing my metaphors between Old Testament and Council of Nicea or Diet of Worms or whenever it was that Purgatory was included in the standard Catholic factory equipment, but I still have a point.) Thank your hosts, tell them the never-ending pasta was great, and get on with your life. In just the same way that those jeans never make you look fat, manners in this case always trump honesty.
Ok, I’m glad that’s out of the way. When you’re the alpha-diner, the one making the choices, you should choose differently, and here is why:
