Woe is the restaurateur who is given this comment upon the conclusion of an LITG visit. For you are merely a bad batch of cornbread mix away from certain death!
On this lovely Friday afternoon one LITG member who shall remain anonymous was feeling a bit ballsy and decided to con the rest of us into Crossing The Wall. Our destination: Eastside Grille (yes, with an “e” on the end) on the Atlanta Highway.
The trip started out well. We synchronized our watches. We formed a plan of action. We stealthily slipped past interior security with military precision. We landed like ninjas in our mode of transport and off we went.
Then, much like the walls of Jericho, everything came a-tumblin’ down. First, there was some confusion on location. Where were we headed? What far off country were we venturing toward? Should we be driving on the left-hand side of the road? Are we there yet? How do we get there? Is this Opelika? Which exit should we take? Then, there was confusion as to time. What time should we meet? Is that what time we are to leave, or is that what time we are supposed to get there? What time zone are we in? Then, we began to get nervous about our surroundings and even our own ability to fit in. Would we be able to assimilate ourselves? What’s the exchange rate? Is that my parole officer? SHIT, take cover!
We arrived, however, relatively intact. Since we had made it so far, we figured we might as well stay and eat. At that point, it seemed the worst was behind us.
Foolish, foolish mortals. How many times must you learn? NEVER LEAVE THE GUMP!
It’s not that the food was bad. It was, actually, as heretofore stated, not too suck-y. But it wasn’t great, either. It was meat & three. It was what we have seen and tasted before. It is what we have tirelessly consumed day in, day out in order to make this blog the pinnacle of great literature that it is. Only this time we had to go beyond the protection of the Gump and beyond the limits allowed by our ankle bracelets. And we had to pay $1.75 (each) for a glass of tea. And it was freezing cold in there. And not only was it little more than OK, it was SLOW! I mean, real slow. I mean, like, get-your-favorite-edition-of-War-and-Peace-and-curl-up-with-your-blankie-because-you-are-going-to-be-here-a-while slow.
On this lovely Friday afternoon one LITG member who shall remain anonymous was feeling a bit ballsy and decided to con the rest of us into Crossing The Wall. Our destination: Eastside Grille (yes, with an “e” on the end) on the Atlanta Highway.
The trip started out well. We synchronized our watches. We formed a plan of action. We stealthily slipped past interior security with military precision. We landed like ninjas in our mode of transport and off we went.
Then, much like the walls of Jericho, everything came a-tumblin’ down. First, there was some confusion on location. Where were we headed? What far off country were we venturing toward? Should we be driving on the left-hand side of the road? Are we there yet? How do we get there? Is this Opelika? Which exit should we take? Then, there was confusion as to time. What time should we meet? Is that what time we are to leave, or is that what time we are supposed to get there? What time zone are we in? Then, we began to get nervous about our surroundings and even our own ability to fit in. Would we be able to assimilate ourselves? What’s the exchange rate? Is that my parole officer? SHIT, take cover!
We arrived, however, relatively intact. Since we had made it so far, we figured we might as well stay and eat. At that point, it seemed the worst was behind us.
Foolish, foolish mortals. How many times must you learn? NEVER LEAVE THE GUMP!
It’s not that the food was bad. It was, actually, as heretofore stated, not too suck-y. But it wasn’t great, either. It was meat & three. It was what we have seen and tasted before. It is what we have tirelessly consumed day in, day out in order to make this blog the pinnacle of great literature that it is. Only this time we had to go beyond the protection of the Gump and beyond the limits allowed by our ankle bracelets. And we had to pay $1.75 (each) for a glass of tea. And it was freezing cold in there. And not only was it little more than OK, it was SLOW! I mean, real slow. I mean, like, get-your-favorite-edition-of-War-and-Peace-and-curl-up-with-your-blankie-because-you-are-going-to-be-here-a-while slow.
If you want to get an idea of how long we were out, here’s a clue: During the course of the trip and meal, topics of conversation included – but were not limited to - the following: the State of Alabama being so incredibly backward, generally (check the pompadour at left), Alabama and Auburn football (no-brainer), Oedipus Rex (don’t ask), Biscuits baseball (past and future), Braves baseball (and wife beaters), oxygen tanks (there was a shitload of them there, by the way), someone (or something?) called “the Chicken” (don’t get me started), Brett Michaels/Poison/hair bands/Steven Tyler/men who wear bandanas on their -- real and/or fake -- hair (‘nuf said), the U.K.’s final resolution to the “great crisp” debate (that’s “chips” for us 'mericans), al fresco dining (actually a good option at Eastside Grille), Congress’ latest attempt to “fix” the U.S. health care system (see prior LITG entry), “grills” vs. “cafes” (what’s the difference, anyway?), and the Masters (a LOT about the Masters, which then led to something about eagles and birdies and albatrosses. To be honest, I don’t know if we were talking about golf or zoo weekend at that point. I lost track. I think I might have had a momentary loss of consciousness due to the lack of food and the frigid temperatures).
You get the idea. Now, that’s a lot of talking. A lot of unnecessary talking. When I could be eating instead.
In summary: The food was OK, but it wasn’t great. It was cold. It was slow. A lot of old people were there.
So, if you want to take about 3 hours for lunch and if you give a damn about having an “e” at the end of your “grille” of choice, then this might the place for you. In other words, you might like it if you are French.
My advice? (1) Don’t go unless you are in the area (hey, it could happen!); (2) Go at dinnertime so you can leisurely eat your meal, sit outside, and enjoy some live music; and (3) Bring your own tea. In a Mason jar. And if they kick you out for it, take your ass back to where you are welcome. To the GUMP!
You get the idea. Now, that’s a lot of talking. A lot of unnecessary talking. When I could be eating instead.
In summary: The food was OK, but it wasn’t great. It was cold. It was slow. A lot of old people were there.
So, if you want to take about 3 hours for lunch and if you give a damn about having an “e” at the end of your “grille” of choice, then this might the place for you. In other words, you might like it if you are French.
My advice? (1) Don’t go unless you are in the area (hey, it could happen!); (2) Go at dinnertime so you can leisurely eat your meal, sit outside, and enjoy some live music; and (3) Bring your own tea. In a Mason jar. And if they kick you out for it, take your ass back to where you are welcome. To the GUMP!
