Never-Ending Bowl of Pasta

Internet advertising does not typically appeal to me. Last week, however, an ad for a $8.95 never-ending pasta bowl (plus unlimited soup or salad and breadsticks) at the Olive Garden appealed to both my love of noodles and monetary deals. I immediately put out the word to Madison, my former housemate and one of the few people I know who enjoys pasta as much as me, and we made a date of it. I hesitated to invite other people along because it's the Olive Garden and I don't have too many friends who'd be particularly keen on eating at a massive chain. I realize that's how the majority of America eats when they dine out, but I certainly don't hang out with the majority of America. When we eat out, we usually hit smaller, locally owned restaurants with better, cheaper, individually prepared food where our money supports the little people rather than fuels national corporations. It's not as if this decision is ever articulated, but no one ever even suggests going to Chilies for example, though I'm sure if it was, it would be met with confusion. When I went to Applebees with my coworkers last year, I confessed that I had, at least to my recollection, never been to one previously. Everyone was shocked, apparently most of these teachers went to Applebees regularly. One teacher looked at me, completely seriously, and said, "You need to get out more." That might be true, but it's fascinating that Applebees of all places would be some sort of barometer for social activity. Not on my scale, anyway.

At any rate, I was surprised when a few more people tagged along to our Olive Garden excursion. Though I had been once before and Madison went every year for her grandma's birthday (her grandmother enjoys the breadsticks and flirtatious waiter), Jessica, Phoebe, and Kirsten, were all first-timers. On the way there, they exclaimed several times, "I can't believe we're going to the Olive Garden," which was an honest sentiment, but one not many people would understand.

In a way, this trip was a cultural experience. Our first lesson learned was that you can't just show up at an Olive Garden and expect a seat. In fact, it was an hour wait. An hour wait? For the Olive Garden? We used the opportunity to walk to all of the other chain restaurants conveniently located in one area in order to expand our horizons. We peeked into the windows of Applebees and Macaroni Grill like some sort of crazed tourists or anthropologists, observing what we could until it was finally our time to eat at the Olive Garden.

We sat and down and everyone was looking at the menu as if they were going to get something other than the never-ending pasta bowl special, which was fine, as long as Madison and I followed through on our pact. Then Phoebe called the special a meal "for fatties" which, interestingly, offended me more than any comment I've heard in recent history. Once I found out that Phatty Phoebe would be ordering the same thing and wasn't nearly as judgmental as I thought, my offense subsided.

We went into the experience with big eyes and stomaches, talking a big game about how much pasta we could eat. The never-ending pasta bowl offered six different shapes of pasta with seven different sauces that you could switch around for reach round we ordered. I intended to try at least three different combinations before I began. I kept shoveling the pasta in my mouth (clearly this was not a meal for fatties, Phoebe), I watched my friends slow to a halt on their first bowl. What? You can't do that! I got offended again, since this deal was only really a deal if you ate so much pasta that the Olive Garden regretted ever offering this special in the first place. It might as well not have been a never-ending bowl if you didn't even take them up on a refill.

As we continued to eat, at a much slower pace, each person eventually getting a refill, we invented a concept for a reality show wherein people would all sit down for a never-ending bowl of pasta and be eliminated when they could no longer keep up and eat. The show had drama, intrigue, and sex - like when I unbuttoned my shorts in order to continue eating and when Kirsten got marinara sauce down her cleavage. Our server, Valerie, was friendly and funny, the perfect host for such a show. We very much enjoyed (and gorged) ourselves; as it turns out, the Olive Garden isn't half bad.

Everyone claimed to be stuffed, but then they all ordered dessert except for me. Seems like some people didn't give the never-ending bowl their all. Now that we've had this experience, however, we chalked this one up to a practice round. We're going back, and we're going to hit those balls hard. We'll be there when it opens, and we'll still be there when it closes. If anyone else wants to participate in a ridiculous pasta eating challenge, let us know.

As I exited the crowded restaurant, I ran into a bit of trouble when I realized that I hadn't re-buttoned my pants. This oversight proved problematic when my shorts slid past my waist and started down my legs. I was literally losing my pants altogether. I stretched my legs wide to prevent them from dropping lower, hiked them up as best as I could, but couldn't really zip and button them without drawing an excessive amount of attention to myself. As embarrassing as it was, I had to keep moving, pants-be-damned. Phoebe walked immediately behind me to shield the view, which helped a bit. Finally I rushed out the door and zipped/buttoned the shorts, only to realize/remember that there were plenty of people waiting outdoors for a seat who could see it all.

Maybe the real reason I don't go to chain restaurants is that I know I'm bound to be banned from them.