This past Saturday night was the kind of spring evening that made you crave outdoor drinks and dining, so when my husband and I found ourselves unexpectedly without kids, we knew we had to seize the opportunity and treat ourselves to a date night out. We knew we wanted to eat outside, but figured reservations at our favorite spots would be tough to snag on such late notice. With a little creative thinking, I called a cute little BYOB that we pass often, but have never tried. Luckily, they had a table, so I grabbed a bottle of red and off we went.
At this point, I need to provide a little background before I go any further. My husband and I are a bit competitive. We often find ourselves exchanging a little healthy competition over silly little things in life. We always have to play “guess the bill” at the end of each meal out, and many of the major decisions in our marriage have been settled with rock, paper, scissors because, let’s face it, that is a game of chance…or fate. Little did I know, that we also had a silent food competition going, too.
It all started in the car. I Googled the menu, to see what seasonal selections they had to offer. At that point, I decided on braised short ribs, but once we got to the restaurant, I heard the specials and decided on pork with a citrus pestoey kind of sauce. My husband ordered the short ribs. Well, the first course came out, and it was excellent. I loved my salad, and Brandon liked his grilled shrimp appetizer. Everything was in balance, and our date was everything I wanted. Then our main course arrived.
The server came out holding two plates. Mistakenly, he placed the short ribs in front of me. That is when the sinking feeling started to creep in. Then, when he corrected his error, and gave me my meal, my heart started to sink. I felt like a 5 year old who was just given a plate piled high with Brussels sprouts. My dinner did not look as yummy as Brandon’s, but I convinced myself that I DID have the better dish. I took a bite. It was good, but I found myself longingly gazing at his balsamic glazed goodness. Then, he delivered a final blow to my pathetic looking, green glazed, pork chop; he offered me a bite. Well, that was it. Food envy enveloped me, and all I could think about with each mediocre bite of my own meal, was that Brandon was the menu master of the night. He had chosen the winning ticket from the menu and had won this restaurant challenge. Who knew date night dinner could be so passively competitive. I was reminded once again that I do not like to lose. At this point, there was only one thing left to do, I ordered the Bourbon Pecan Crème Brule and finished my bottle of wine.
The moral of this story is to always go with your gut, literally, when ordering dinner out!