An old adventure in Chicago

It happened a decade ago, maybe two decades (I'm getting older; time flies.). I was in town on business, and alone, which is fine with me; I happen to enjoy my own company. I had a book in hand, ready for some supper, and was walking around looking for a place with some local color when I happened on Lawry's restaurant. You might remember seeing Lawry's seasoned salt on the spice shelf in the grocery store. The restaurant is where the salt came from. The idea of a whole restaurant named after some salt intrigued me, so I moseyed in. I was taken to a table in an ornate (fancy dark woodwork) dining room by one of several charming hostesses, and I settled in with my book. I noticed several large stainless meat carriers with  medallioned white-clad men in chef's hats looking alert and bored at the same time. This guy is posing, so he doesn't look bored, but you get the idea.

A waitress in an extremely low-cut dirndl brought me my menu. Their menu featured one entree, prime rib. Simple enough. And three prices: Expensive, outrageous, and if-you-have-to-ask-you-can't-afford-it. Even simpler I suppose: I settled for Expensive, a baked potato, and the house salad. The young lady had a huge grin on her face the whole evening; I never did figure out why, unless perhaps because I was dating a book instead of some female.

Pretty soon the waitress came by with salad in a large bowl resting in a bed of ice cubes. She gave the bowl a spin, and made a big production out of pouring the house dressing over the lettuce, dumping the salad into a smaller bowl, and then holding out to me a small dish with a napkin on it. I already had a napkin, but hey, maybe I looked like a slob or a professor or something, and I started to reach for it. She beat me to it, unfolding the napkin to reveal (ta-da) my refrigerated salad fork! Which I accepted, and dug in. The dressing was unremarkable (the salad dressing) but the presentation was not to be forgotten.

Later she arrived with a large baked potato, on its own gurney, with an assortment of condiments for me to choose among. She spooned each of my choices into the open potato, covered it with her napkin-protected hand, and stirred everything together inside the skin with a fork. Then she stuck a small sign onto the potato and placed it before me. The sign said that the potato had been thoroughly washed on the outside, and the skin was safe to eat. (Place like this, it didn't occur to me that it would be otherwise. Maybe they were trying to get rid of potato skins.)

If you live on the Atlantic seaboard, order seafood. But if you dine in the Midwest, order beef. They know how to do it right, and the Lawry's in Chicago treated me to a slab of the tenderest, tastiest prime rib I had ever eaten.

A bargain.