The Salad Days of Val

One of these days, I'm going to learn to speak out. Stand up for myself when service is not what I expect. I'd much rather not. I don't like to make a scene. But let me tell you, I was THISCLOSE to saying something when we repeat-dined at a steakhouse in Miami, Oklahoma.

We'd eaten there during CasinoPalooza 3, and the food was great. With The Pony requesting steak for his last supper when we took him halfway back to college, we figured this place was as good as any. I enjoyed my side salad last time, so I ordered the same thing again.

Back then, I got a picture of my salad. You know, the one showing the direct energy weapon trying to set it ablaze. Funny what you pick up in a picture that you didn't see with your naked eye. Anyhoo... I'd asked for a vinaigrette dressing, and was told that a raspberry vinaigrette was available. So I took it, and enjoyed this dressing, pictured there in the little black plastic cup.

Well. This time, I also asked for a vinaigrette dressing. The waitress, different than before, said, "Um. Okay. Do you want it with oil?"

What does that even mean? I didn't ask for oil and vinegar. I asked for vinaigrette dressing. So I said, "No." I did not want oil. I should have asked for the raspberry vinaigrette. But I didn't remember what kind I had. It's not listed on the menu, and I knew it was red, but didn't know if it was strawberry or raspberry or some other berry.

So I just said no to the oil. Not knowing exactly what is in a vinaigrette, having not been educated at culinary school, and not watching enough of the Food Network to learn. Now Google informs me that vinaigrette IS oil and vinegar. So WHY would a waitress ask me if I wanted the oil left out of the vinaigrette? It's a conspiracy, I tell you! Would she ask if I wanted the bread in a chicken sandwich? No! Because obviously, bread is part of a sandwich, by definition. Which would make oil part of a vinaigrette! Otherwise, you're just getting vinegar!

When my salad was served, the cup of vinaigrette looked different. It wasn't red. I was kind of colorless. Clear. I was suspicious. I told Hick,

"I don't think this is the dressing I asked for. It looks like plain vinegar!" I poured some out on my salad. Runny as water. I tasted. "This IS plain vinegar! Who pours vinegar on their salad?"

Hick said to tell the waitress, and get something else. However, like him with his $1000 shoe inserts from The Good Feet Store, I did not want to appear foolish by declining what I'd asked for. I ate my salad. With vinegar. Let the record show that I did not use the full cup of my "dressing."

The last time, my dressing was delicious. The vinegar was not. You can catch more return customers with sweet, sweet raspberry vinaigrette than with vinegar.

At least I didn't pay $1000 for my little cup of oil-less vinaigrette.

Don't you worry about Val. She makes her own salad at home, piled as high as a bowl of Hick's vegetable beef soup. A salad with romaine lettuce, mushrooms, onions, sharp cheddar, and tomatoes.

Which Val dresses with raspberry vinaigrette from a bottle.