Aitor Ider Balbo Vinas de Balbo 2004
Villa Maria does its part to explain screwcaps: right on its bottles

It's muh birf-day! Where we goin!?!?!?!

For our birthdays, the missus and I generally ask each other the question:  what restaurant would you like to go to that we normally wouldn't go to 'cause it's too far, or too 'spensive, or too whatever.  Today was my birfday, and the question was no different.  The answer, however, sounded a lot like this:  "Ruby effing Tuesday's." 


That's right:  "Ruby effing Tuesday's" (The only place that I put an inappropriate and silly-sounding possessive "s" at the end of...he said, ending a sentence in a preposition.  Not sure why I do that.  Either of those.).  What can I say: that commercial that I saw on Saturday afternoon, all talkin' about that "Triple Prime Burger" (scroll down...atta boy), really got me going.  I realized that I needed to try it.  It was really that simple.  And why not waste a Monday night meal on it, especially since I had a great lunch at Otto with Dbroc from blackeyedpig, and, given that fact, could have basically had my own ear wax and a diet Pepsi for dinner and still gone to bed pretty satisfied.

The atmosphere:

Ruby Tuesdays is as depressing and filthy as pretty much any other chain of its ilk.  I haven't done a strict analysis, but I'm pretty sure they all look the same.  And smell the same.

And the decor:

You know those places that hang "old stuff" on the walls for interest?  Of course you do.  They started doing that about 30 years ago at Bennigan's or someshit.  They still do it, but now at 200 chains and, unfortunately, uninspired local joints.  And the "old stuff" that hangs from the walls, still ain't old.  It's new.  But at too many places it goes undusted, and, as such, looks really old.  Like your grandma's living room.  Like at Ruby Tuesdays. 

Regarding comfort:

Don't pull your barstool in.  There's probably something sticky where you're about to put your hand.  Or elbow.  Or arm.


Cleaner and better stocked than one might expect.  Me especially.

Dem people over dere:

Mostly high school-aged kids, maybe early college.  Young moms with younger children.  Mall-crowd.  Your sister, your niece, your neighbor, your uncle, your co-worker.  Nice, good, decent, honest folks in general.

The wings:

Flabby and distgusting.  As if they weren't cooked.  Like raw chicken skin.  Good buffalo sauce though.

The martini:

Half a glass.  They don't have no onions.


The beer:

Had a nice cold Blue Moon, appropriately adorned with an orange slice.

The bartender:

A nice guy.  C'mon.  Cut the guy some slack.

Something you don't know:

The "Triple Prime Burger" is excellent!


I'm just joshin' ya: 

It pretty much isn't all that good.  Doesn't suck, though.  It's a decent diner burger.  It's a decent "chain burger", to quote the missus.  But c'mon.  It's pretty lame, and it sure don't look like that commercial I saw on the picture box in the living room the other day.

The highlight of the meal:

A quick stop over at this place right next doh':

Img_1796 Bumped into some old friends:

at the always reliable Legal Sea Foods, in the form of Chef Nick and wife.  The real highlight of the birthday meal.