THREE CANES AND A WALKER

Judy and I were thrilled to receive an invitation to have dinner at the fine steak emporium, Capitol Grille in Boca Raton, by a woman who was reciprocating for our having invited her to a Sunday Brunch a few weeks earlier. Judy loves a medium rare filet mignon better than anything, and I liked the idea that I only had to pay for one lunch when she came to our club and we were getting two dinners in return.

We got ‘spiffed’ up and entered the restaurant at the appointed time, which was 6:00 p.m. Since they don’t have any “Early Bird Specials” at this restaurant I guessed that the other guests were elderly (like me), and for our kind (sophisticated super seniors) 6:00 p.m. is everyone else’s 7:00 p.m. (F/Y/I/  Boca Midnight is 10:00 p.m.)

Sure enough the other guests were three ninety-year-olds. Since the hostess and I are in our eighties and Judy is in her seventies our group would have made Methuselah proud. As I surveyed the room during dinner three things became evident: 

  First, the dining room is beautiful, with ceilings almost as high as the prices. By the time we had finished eating the restaurant was completely full. No one here was worried about the fiscal cliff.  Each table was piled high with platters of $ 48 steaks, $ 24 per pound lobsters and who knows what price the stone crabs A side of creamed spinach cost as much as a full dinner at The Golden Corral.

Second, everyone else was so much younger than we were that I wanted to cry. 

Third, people were dressed in a style I would call “casual lite”, represented by a patron wearing a baseball hat, several men in T-shirts and others sporting long-sleeve shirts not tucked in. Out table was the best dressed by far, but no one else seemed to take notice.

The only other male guest was the oldest one at the table and in the whole room. He’s an old friend of mine. His health has not been so good recently, as one might expect. I noticed he had hardly eaten his filet mignon. When I inquired why, he replied that it was so tough he could hardly cut it with the steak knife. I told him he should send it back but he replied he never did that. I called over the waiter. His  response to the complaint was,  “when a steak is made “au poivre” it becomes hard to cut”, which sounded like a lot of bull to me. It’s possible that my friend is getting so weak that he doesn’t have the strength to push the knife through the steak.

Despite the fact that the dining room had a very high ceiling the room was very noisy. Everyone seemed to be talking. We had a particularly difficult time hearing each other because my friend’s hearing aid couldn’t seem to overcome the room noise and we were seated at a table for eight - - - we were only six - - - and the chairs were spaced too far apart. In addition, not too many of us would pass a hearing test with flying colors.  My solution was to move my chair to the left or right depending upon with whom I was conversing.

As you get older you begin to lose your sense of taste. This loss has been exacerbated in my case by years of ‘chemo’, so good food is wasted on me. So when I go out to eat I usually order the cheapest item on the menu, but tonight, since it was free, I had a 24-ounce porterhouse (with bone-in) and from what I could tell it was delicious - - - it smelled great. 


The dinner partner seated almost a foot away on my left told me she also had pretty much lost her sense of taste, along with her sense of hearing. She chose the stuffed crab. My right-hand neighbor, the one who couldn’t cut the filet, didn’t have enough to eat so that he could tell if he liked the taste. But he loved the creamy Lobster Bisque. He offered a taste, and it was so rich and creamy even my taste buds had a good time.

Our hostess was most gracious. I judge this by the fact that when none of us cared to order dessert, she ordered a plate of seven-layer cake with ice cream for the table with six forks. 

    The portion was so large the six of us never finished it. Our hostess cancelled the ice cream realizing it was superfluous.

Capitol Grille happens to be an old stomping ground of mine. Not that I’m such a big spender, it just happened to be a restaurant of choice for several of the sponsors of the free lunch seminars that I attended in the course of writing my book, “The Adventures Of A Free Lunch Junkie” my foray into 50 such seminars last year. (By the way you can still purchase it on Amazon or any E-Readers. Hurry before it becomes an high-priced collector’s item.)

 

   One day at a seminar in Capitol Grille I took a picture of the private dining room in which we were entertained. Judy said the man in the painting looks like me. I’m not so sure. 

                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                                                                         

                                                                                                                    

                                                                                                                              When I tried to take a picture of the main dining room the manager stopped me and said photos were not allowed. I couldn’t for the life of me figure that one out, but instead I took a photo of the bathroom and displayed it in my book (tush chez). Pardon my French).