First of all, I’m in a semi-revolt against our constant level of connection at so many electronic levels. Cells phones, Blackberries, laptops, constant e-mail, working at all hours because we can connect to our work stations at home, television on demand, etc.–tell me, does any of this really make your life easier? Or is the price we pay for convenience too high? Jury’s out, I guess. But THIS is going too far:

If you just can’t STAND not knowing what’s going on with your pizza from the time you place the order till the time it arrives, then Domino’s has the solution for you with Pizza Tracker. Order online and you can track your pizza, within 40 seconds, to find out how it’s coming along. I’m not kidding. This is straight from the press release:

“Once customers place an order, they can go to www.dominos.com and click on the Pizza Tracker icon. They will see a horizontal bar that lights up red as each step in the process is completed. Customers will see confirmation of their order being received by the store; when it’s being prepared; when it’s been placed in the oven; when it’s been boxed and placed in the Domino’s HeatWave bag; and finally, when it’s on its way for delivery.So customers using Pizza Tracker will no longer have to wonder where their pizza is in the ordering process - it takes the ‘mystery’ out of waiting for their pizza.”

Wow. Aren’t you all excited?

An open letter to diners in Memphis:

PLEASE. I’m begging you. If you can’t cut out the perfume and the cologne, please cut back.

First of all, it’s tacky to overdo the scent. I know your mama told you that someone is supposed to be close enough to kiss you before they smell you. If she didn’t, well, I’m someone’s mama and I’m telling you now. No matter how much you like it, there will be others who don’t.

Second, your loud perfume/cologne interferes with the meals of the diners around you. I want to smell my wine and my food–that’s part of the experience–and when you’re sitting next to me drenched in Eau de Too Much, I can’t.

It’s true that I’m particularly sensitive to fragrances. I get a sniffy nose, a tickly throat and eventually, if I don’t get away from some scents, a blinding headache. But even those who aren’t physically affected by it can still be offended by it.

And yes, of course, I’ve had recent experiences with this and that’s why I’m blogging about it. I thought I might have to leave a restaurant not too long ago because of a woman’s perfume. It filled the room as she walked through and it was just luck that she was seated as far away from me as possible.

So, enough said. Please think of others when you’re spritzing or dabbing.

Very truly yours,

Jennifer

It happened again today. In my last dining review (of JaJa’s in Collierville), I wrote about how stingy the waitress was with the to-go sauce for my egg rolls. When I tried to pour more of the sauce into the little container, she told me I could buy a bottle–for $15. As I said in the review, I’d already paid for the egg rolls and felt like I should be able to decide, within reason, which was already bound by the size of the container (small salad bar dressing size, either one or two ounces), how much of the condiment I wanted for my food.

Today I’m at My Greek Cafe for my last meal before the review and I ordered to-go meals for a few coworkers. One had the gyros sandwich and I asked for extra sauce. I even motioned with my hand, putting my thumb and my forefinger about a half-inch apart, to show how much I was talking about. But when the bill came, there was an extra $3 charge for tzatziki. I asked why and the server told me she was sorry. They charge for extra. But she put a lot in there, she told me.

Um, we didn’t want a lot. Just a little, just enough to make sure there was enough on the sandwich. And besides, if you’re going to tack $3 onto a $6.50 ticket, you need to ask first. Fifty cents is one thing; nearly half the tab is another.

What is going on? I want folks to make money–everyone prosper!–but I don’t want to feel like I’m being taking advantage of. When I dine out, I’m willing to spend money on what I want and I tip generously for good service. Make me feel unwelcome and you lose my business. Take note, restaurateurs. Little things matter.

I was just noodling around on the wire and came across a story from the St. Perterburg Times. The writer was the host for the evening at a restaurant and one of her guests ordered a special. Only when the check came did she find out that it cost $107! You can click here to read the whole story.

This reminds me of a story from about 15 years ago. A friend of mine took her husband to Folks Folly for his birthday and he ordered the lobster, which was market price–and huge. His lobster was $69. I believe they were told this before they placed their order, though, unlike the SP Times reporter. What happened there, if you don’t want to read the whole article, was that her guest ordered the Kobe beef, she didn’t want to ask the price and the waiter didn’t offer it. The chef later explained to her that since one customer was once insulted when he was told the price of specials, now it’s the policy of the restaurant not to tell. You have to ask. I think that’s wrong.

That said, I’ve noticed that many restaurants in town–maybe most–don’t offer the prices on specials. (But I ask.) In fact, I might start putting it in my reviews when the prices aren’t recited with the specials. I think it’s nuts to buy anything without knowing the price. If you don’t know the price, how can you know value? Say I find a pair of sandals that I like and as an educated shoe shopper, I look at them and figure they’re made like a $50 pair of shoes. I’d be a fool to spend $200 on them, wouldn’t I? But if they weren’t marked, I’d have to ask the price to find out if they’re worth what they cost. Is there a difference with a meal?

This comment from Todd, which you can find under the Best Chicken Salad post, got me going this morning:

I’m a chicken salad purist. I don’t like any of that california junk in my Southern chicken salad. James Food Center in Oxford has the absolute best plain old chicken salad you can buy. Chicken salad is like tea. It doesn’t need to be messed with. Whoever had the idea that tea needs mango or passionfruit in it? I’d like to have a serious conversation with that person.

Go, Todd! I cannot stand flavored coffee or iced tea, will not eat dried fruit in my chocolate, cringe when I see a perfectly good cheesecake covered with fruit-like goo, pick the berries off my creme brulee and would never, ever eat a strawberry in my chicken salad! Nevah!

And yes, it’s true that my favorite flavor of ice cream is vanilla. As my husband’s Uncle Bill says, “Any other flavor is just a way to disguise bad ice cream.”

Although I like almost everything else I’ve eaten at Lolo’s Table, I don’t like the pimiento cheese, which contains sultanas and cashews. Come on–give me sharp cheddar, good mayo, pimientoes, black pepper and maybe a little grated onion. Maybe.

What is it you can’t stand to see done in by good intentions?