It was a cool November evening when I first arrived at the Bonefish Grill in Kentucky. The strain of a long day at work was prominent on my face and my five-o-clock shadow told the story of a man filled with internal strife and external responsibility.
As I entered the restaraunt, I approached a podium, behind which two bashful young women resided, and requested a table for one. "Are you sure, just one?" One of the ladies asked. Yes, I was sure. I tried to make a joke of it, but this would only be the beginning of my journey to find freedom from the stigmas I would face that night.
I was seated in the center of the dimly lit establishment, a nice touch to the overall ambiance that provided a warm tranquil feeling of peace, surrounded by larger tables of groups leering at my lonely disposition. The waitress approached and asked if I would like a beverage as I waited for the rest of my "party" to arrive.
"The parties all here!" I said as I chuckled trying to encourage pleasant small talk. "Oh," the waitress said in an awkward manner which was polluted with undertones of judgement "we serve Coke products or I can get you something from the bar." A Coke would suffice for tonight; despite the temptation the great array of fairly priced spirits the restaurant provided.
When the waitress returned, impatient and tired from what was likely the middle of a long term, I ordered two appetizers. The waitress glared at my thin, unassuming frame with exasperation. "Those are designed for groups, will a group be joining you?" she asked plainly. She knew the answer. I couldn't help but feel she was testing me; mocking me. "Do they come in individual platters?" I inquired. "No," she replied in a victorious tone. I would not back down at this. I knew I had to stay strong and resumed my original order.
First came the bread, then the pile of 'Bang, Bang Shrimp', and finally the bowl of arranged muscles and vegetables. I looked at the bounty before me with longing eyes. I then noticed a small white box on the edge of the table with some crude drawing and markings on it. It was a to-go box, already prepared, assuming my failure to complete my meal designed for a "party" of diners.
I now knew I had a mission before me. I began to eat all of the food which was present. It was fantastic. The flavors danced on my palette in a carefree frolic of pure joy and ecstacy. Each bite was greater than the last. Soon, I had finished the muscles. Then the shrimp. And finally the bread and Coke.
The waitress returned, smug and powerful, and asked if I wanted a refill. Now was the time. I knew I needed to assert my dominance. "Yes, thank you. And could I have the desert menu?" She stared at me perplexed. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to pressure you," she attested "since you have so much left over to take home as it is." I slowly opened the box she had prepared for me to reveal it was empty.
Shock, disbelief, and a twinge of horror met the waitresse's face. She knew she had been bested. My dominance had prevailed. I glanced back at the timid girls at the podium and they dared not make eye contact. "The desert menu, please." I continued.
I surveyed the menu and ordered some sort of devilishly chocolate ordeal of which I can hardly remember the taste. This part of my meal was eaten out of will, not hunger.
I left the restaurant with my stomach fringing damaged from overuse. Though I also left the establishment an empowered soul who bested the judgemental assaults thrust upon me by a society that rejects lone dining.
Overall, I rate Bonefish Grill 4 stars. The food and atmosphere are fantastic and I'll likely dine there again. I only hope my journey and victory there will further progress destroying the unfair assumptions made toward and about parties of one. read more