When is a gift card NOT a gift card?

 It usually takes a lot to get me "steamed" (You'll understand the pun better later), but I was WELL past my boiling point by the time I exited the restaurant last week after I'd gone out to lunch with my daughters.

Let me back up. The hour-long drive to Rochester encourages us to pack as much into each visit as possible. So, naturally, we were looking forward to a special meal. Two of us are BIG fans of fried green tomatoes and barbecue while the third member of our little party tends to be a tad more conservative in her culinary choices. I'm ashamed to admit though, that it was my fist-full of gift cards that ultimately made my decision.

So it was that we went to Cruddy-Crustacean because I foolishly thought it would be economical and because Sydney loves their cheesy biscuits.  With idealistic expectations high, I perused the menu and was delighted that they'd added caprese salad to the menu. I don't mean to brag but I am considered to be the foremost expert of caprese salads in the area ("Area" being the sixteen square feet that surrounds my computer chair). I love the thick, juicy slices of deep red tomato sandwiched between soft cushions of blinding white mozzarella that mimics the texture of a beluga whale. Those of you who have recently consumed beluga whale will know exactly what I mean. Toss in kalamata olives once in awhile for whimsy or go utterly crazy and blow my mind with the addition of avocado. But Cruddy-Crustacean decided to go in another direction altogether. "Is that red onion?" Sydney asked, risking a subtle glance at her sister as I quietly went about removing red onion from my salad with meticulous care. Who the F*$> puts RED ONION in caprese salad?!? I smiled demurely as I batted the unsymmetrical balls of mozzarella around my bowl. The waitress returned to take our order and I sighed (silently) when she told Sydney that the bits of tomato could NOT be removed from the lobster pizza as they came pre-made. Of course they do. It's not like this is some high-falutin place like McDonald's where they can make my food to order. "Two sides come with that," the waitress informed Savannah as she made her selection. I highly recommended the lobster mashed potatoes not realizing that they use a government-cheese-issued sauce to smother it in. After attempting and failing to guide Savannah to the sides in the multi-page menu, Savannah gave up and selected asparagus.

A short time later, I watched Sydney meticulously pick her bits of tomato off of her lobster pizza while I valiantly searched for the crab meat hidden among the breaded mixture that comprised my stuffed mushrooms. For her part, Savannah was quite satisfied with her meal (I ate her potatoes). The bill arrived. Now, I'm no mathematician, but eighty dollars for lunch seemed a bit grandiose. For perhaps the first time in my life, I carefully inspected the totals. "What are you doing?" hissed Savannah, who apparently uses twenty dollar bills to line life's bird cage. "They charged us extra for your two sides," I said with an outrage usually assigned to people who batter baby seals for sport. "Just let it go," Savannah pleaded, acting as though she were suffering from a bout of PTMS (post-traumatic-mom-syndrome).  For goodness sake, the girl acts as though I'd spent the bulk of her lifetime finding ways to humiliate her publicly.

Well. I DID have the gift cards.

Well. I DO have the gift cards.

Having gone to settle our bill (That was less than the gross natural product of some small African nations), the waitress returned quickly to inform us that Cruddy-Crustacean is no longer part of the group that incorporates so many of the fine restaurants many of us visit when we can't actually get to The Dinosaur for fried green tomatoes and barbecue. Savannah and Sydney held their breath as I stared, disbelieving, at the waitress. I was going to have to actually pay eighty dollars of my own money to have picked red onion off a so-called caprese salad and tomato bits off a pre-made lobster pizza?

I wanted to demand to see the manager. I wanted to make a scene. I wanted to march into that "kitchen" and show them how to actually make a caprese salad. And, on my way out, I would stop and warn EVERY table that they charge EXTRA for sides. But I didn't. I sighed and signed the receipt. What would my daughters remember of this day? That I threw a tantrum over eighty bucks at a notoriously sub-par restaurant? Or that I exercised restraint and refused to get ruffled over losing a couple of clams? I won't lie. I was definitely seeing "red" as I left Cruddy-Crustacean but I had bigger fish to fry. Like enjoying time with my daughters.