Basically, it's Fizzolis in a nicer package and with more garlic. That's the secret to everything: more garlic. If anyone tells you different, they are lying. If garlic is not appropriate (and I can't really think of many scenarios where it isn't) the secondary option is more Lawry's. (Seasoned salt of course. Do they do anything else?) None of those people at the Gardino (that's what I imagine would be Italian for garden) were trained in Italy. They were trained in re-hydrating and reheating though, on par with your local McDonald's.
Anyway, I have never been on an actual "date" to the Olive Garden, but two noteworthy times I was escorted by male friends, so it was surely assumed by the wait-staff it was a date. The first time was with my very first real (ex)boyfriend I actually had dated years prior. In was an innocent romance based on a love of skate punk and Adult Swim, amicable split at 6 months. Not bad for 15. Anyway, years later I was visiting him along with several other friends in Madison. Matt was 18, and I had just turned 18, and our first maneuver post-seating was to see if we could get wine. The waiter smirked at us, as this was 2007, and I weighed barely a 100 pounds and probably looked 12. I think Matt was wearing a Rancid t-shirt. After asking for ID, Matt simply answered "Eh, it was worth a shot." We discussed whether we should fake a break-up fight, and decided post not-getting-wine, it would be better to stay on good behavior. The pasta was over-priced, not bad, but I've doctored better Alfredo from Wal Mart. "But Shelly, this is the extent of your cooking skills!" you say. True, but I'm working on it.
The second fake date was with my friend, Dan Resch, who's name I always say in it's entirety since I know so many "Dans" and it's only two syllables. We were visiting Dan Resch's ailing mother in Madison (same Olive Garden!) and decided to go to the Olive Garden (Yeah, the same one!)
I briefly considered trying to get a snobby bottle of something again; I was only a few months shy of my 21st, had 30 lbs on my 18 year old self and wasn't dressed like a total hooligan. I've never bothered owning a fake ID however, since living in the Northwoods, these things aren't necessary for girls in certain (most) bars. Dan Resch however, despite being barely a year younger than me, only needs to shave once every couple weeks. Wine was not happening yet again. We also discussed faking a break-up, or at least a dramatic fight. I think wine would have made it more appropriate and believable. I doubt we could actually pull this off, since just talking about was enough to incite giggling. Plus, I didn't want to get kicked out prior to the shrimp scampi sampler; it was actually quite good, but once again, I could make something just as delicious at home. Crunchy garlic bread, shrimp in garlic butter with cherry tomatoes and ripe olives? Some sprinkle-y green herbs? It was neat looking, although once again over-priced. But man, garlic. The keys to life.
I will give them this: the waiters were all cute and flirty. Cute and flirty are just as important qualities in a serving career as speed and order accuracy. Patience helps, I guess. I have none, so I'm not quick to judge others. For example, I don't know where to go with blog, but rather than sit and think of something, I'm just going to roll with this bullshit segue I'm hammering out right now.
Last week, I ate Alfredo with sauteed baby bellas over three cheese stuffed tortellini. For breakfast. At 6 in the morning. This house has also gone through two shakers of garlic powder since we moved in 6 months ago, as well as countless jars of hot giardinera. We don't fuck around with our bullshit Italian. At least once a week, we eat a pasta and marinara based dish, as experimented by me with added ingredients, varying herbs, meats, vegetables and peppers. Although I want to learn it someday,
I don't speak any Italiano (that's Spanish for Italian!**), but sometimes I spew out random Spanish cooking -related phrases with gusto while I'm making spaghetti and pretend like I'm cultured. It never tastes the same as the last time I made it. But there's always tons garlic.
**It's also Italian for Italian. That was a joke.
I don't speak any Italiano (that's Spanish for Italian!**), but sometimes I spew out random Spanish cooking -related phrases with gusto while I'm making spaghetti and pretend like I'm cultured. It never tastes the same as the last time I made it. But there's always tons garlic.
**It's also Italian for Italian. That was a joke.
