Macho Chef: Restaurant Therapy

It can ruin an adult's entire day and scar a child for life.  There is something savage, something barbaric and something downright uncivilized about taking kids to a restaurant.

We've all had to do it, either as a kid or as a parent, and it is one of those things all humans must do as part of the process of social acceptance.

And it's not easy.

Take going though a drive-up window.  I've accepted the harsh training of my parents, and now I can do this supposedly simple act with ease.  You drive up, give your order "double cheeseburger, medium fries and a Coke please", and move on with your life.

With kids, the scenario goes like this:  You drive up, you give your order for a burger, fries and drink to the unseen teller, and then you turn to the first child.  He hollers out the window, "What's on the deluxe chicken burger?"

The teller begins to describe the 38 ingredients that make up the ever-popular deluxe chicken burger when the youngest leans forward, sticks his head by your ear and shouts to the invisible voice, "Are you still serving breakfast?"  Through the ringing in my ears, I barely hear the teller say, "We are no longer serving breakf-" Then the oldest says loudly and with wounded indignation, "I don't want any onions.  I hate onions."

And it goes downhill from there.

What's even worse is going to a buffet.

It's not that the kids misbehave, because for the most part they do just fine.  Well, it's okay except for the occasional slug-fest when a brother or cousin kicks one of your brood in the leg.

The real problem is trying to have them eat a balanced meal at a buffet.  The oldest grabs a plate and piles it with tater tots.  Just tater tots.  I spent $8.99 so he can eat tater tots.

At least he can balance his meal with that ever-present Reagan vegetable we all know and love - ketchup.

The youngest is sneaky.  He puts a tiny piece of chicken on his plate (probably taken from a mutant dwarf chicken genetically engineered to produce wings that are smaller than your pinky), a forlorn chunk of carrot, and three kernels of corn.  Then he comes back to the table with his choices arranged on his plate, like three lost and lonely souls scattered in the middle of the desert.

He eats his idea of a balanced meal in two bites, because one of the corn kernels fell off his fork.  Then he leans back, loosens his belt like he has just finished a Thanksgiving turkey singlehandedly and says, "Well I'm full.  Can I get some dessert?"

I guess I should be grateful.  For the most part my kids are not loud and obnoxious in restaurants.  Sure, we went through that period when they were toddlers and going to the restaurant was a rare and traumatizing experience for both parent and child, but we did all right.

I feel sorry for other parents.  I once saw a mother and father suddenly stop eating.  The mother whispered in a fierce voice to the oldest of three children, "You did what?" Then the whole family got up suddenly, left cash on the table, and rapidly exited the restaurant.

When the busboy started clearing the dishes, I realized the kids had super-glued all their silverware to the table.

So I guess I'm pretty lucky.

Macho Chef's Secret Sauce

WHAT YOU NEED

1 cup of ketchup

2 teaspoons of water

1/4 teaspoon of garlic powder

1/4 teaspoon of powdered onion

1/4 teaspoon of black pepper

1/4 teaspoon of salt

1/2 teaspoon of hot red pepper sauce

WHAT YOU DO

1. Stir all the ingredients in a saucepan and cook over medium heat for 7 to 10 minutes, stirring constantly until it begins to boil.

2.  Cover and let it cool.  Transfer it to a jar with a tight-fitting lid.  Use it generously on sandwiches, burgers, and anything else that needs secret sauce.