About three months ago we started “Friday night mystery
date.” Dan or I (mostly Dan) finds a fun or unique place to go out, just the
two of us. I wasn’t feeling well on Friday, so we stayed in. Feeling
responsible for a missed opportunity, I explored some options for Saturday
instead. Milwaukee has some long-standing gastronomic institutions. I settled
on Mimma’s, an Italian restaurant that has been around forever. We’ve never
been there so I thought it might be a nice, romantic destination. I called and
made a reservation.
Parking near the restaurant is dicey, it’s in a old
neighborhood with limited street parking. Dan circled the block and came upon a
parking spot within 50-feet of the entrance. His parking juju. I used to
ridicule it until that night—three days before Christmas a few years ago--when
we needed to make a run to Mayfair mall. In an endless stream of cars looking
for a spot, I turned to Dan and, ala The Ten Commandments, threw down the
parking gauntlet. “So where's your messiah now?” or more accurately, “so
where's your parking juju now?” With God As My Witness, Dan said nothing, but
turned into the main entrance to Mayfair. He waited in the line of cars, and
With God As My Witness, he pulled up and parked in the Very Closest Parking
Spot to the front door of the mall. I was stunned, and bowed to the juju. I
have not dissed it since.
Years later, on a 14 degree night, the juju came through
again. We had about 40 minutes before our reservation, so we stopped at another
establishment for an aperitif. Thirty minutes later we walked over to Mimma’s.
The check-in area was packed; we barely made it through the
front door. A quick discussion with the patient folks standing closest to the
door found that they all had reservations and had not yet been able to
check-in. No problem, we’re friendly. We continued conversing with others while
assessing the situation. I really wanted to eat here. I really wanted some good
Italian food. OK, I didn’t plan for a Valentine’s rush, my mistake, but it
would be worth the wait.
The 150 year old lady at the check in counter asked once “Do
you all have reservations?” We all
nodded and she shuffled away. That was the last thing she said to the crowd.
About 30 minutes later a table of two, who’d been perusing the menu and sipping
their water abruptly left. A large, visibly flustered waiter (“We only have
three servers! We only have three servers!”) walked by and asked where they
went. The waiting crowd said they left. “Well we are incredibly busy and I just
couldn’t get to them!” At this point Dan began to narrate what should be
happening. The curse of working for a company in the top quartile for customer
service is that he doesn’t tolerate lesser service well. The hungry, waiting
crowd ate it up (pun intended). A table of 4 and a table of 3 were seated. When the 150-year old came by again she
saw the empty table and seated the party of two ahead of us. A nice young
couple who had a reservation 15 minutes ahead of ours.
Dan continued. A little explanation to the waiting patrons.
Apologies and a small appetizer. There are a dozen people in line—a quick glass
of wine? Nope. Twenty minutes later that young couple seated at the table of
invisibility looked over the menu and continued to sip water. Eventually, that same flustered waiter
stopped by and said someone would help them out soon, not sure if it would be
him or someone else, but someone would come around “eventually”? Dan pulled out his iPhone and asked
Siri for Italian restaurants in the area. “There are 13 Italian restaurants
close to you.” The hungry crowd laughed. Time for us to bail.
We took a short drive to another chain Italian restaurant,
again scoring a parking space Right In Front of the establishment. We were
seated within 15-minutes, without a reservation. Granted, this is a chain, with
a lot of tables and big staff. It
was now 9ish and lunch had worn off completely. Food was on the horizon and I
was happy.
Everything is served family style. We ordered a salad and
two main courses. We talked and couldn’t help but notice the large table of
large folks obviously celebrating some event – probably a birthday, as
evidenced by the woman in a tiara.
Our salad arrived and we dug in. The waitress offered a garlic bread
basket, but I declined, knowing that it would only serve as a butter delivery
system. The large party next to us got multiple pizzas and pasta dishes. Our
entrée’s came and we quickly realized we had over ordered. We both ate a portion
and sat looking at dinner for the next week.
Desert? No, thank you, stuffed. And then came the lit
candelabra and large birthday cake. Yes, it was her birthday. This large table
of very large people were celebrating her 23rd birthday. And really
enjoying the cake. A lot. We have been there. We understand. But like a
reformed smoker, when you see people that large shoveling in cake on top of an
insane amount of food, all you can think about is “must get on the treadmill.”
The waitress came back with our leftovers, in four separate containers. Yup, dinner for a week.
Music that resonates:
That's Amore - Dean Martin
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