Boscos Squared
2120 Madison Avenue
432.2222
(Appetizer)
Stacey:
After a frenzy of emails, Monkey Convergence 2: Electric Boogaloo was on. I called Bosco's on a Friday at 4:45pm to see if I could make a 5:45pm reservation for sixteen on the patio. (Smartly, I decided not to inform them that nine of the sixteen were monkeys aging from 3 months to 8 years.) I was put on hold for a minute or two and then asked for my name. "Richard Alley," I said.
I called Warren at work to inform him of the plan and set off to pick the monkeys up from school. When I told them that we were going to a restaurant for dinner, they responded with cheers (Yay! Restaurant!) and then tried to talk me into driving straight to the restaurant without stopping at go to collect Daddy. "We're walking," I said. "Bosco's is just across the street from our house." Walking! "And guess what? C, JP, S, GK, Miss M, Connor, and Chloe are all coming with their mommies and daddies." No way! They couldn’t believe their luck.
I rushed them into the house and asked them both to wash their hands and faces since they were pretty much filthy. I briefly considered giving them a full wardrobe change, but decided against it. Once cleaned up, Satchel started collecting coloring book after coloring book, his markers, and his crayons. "These are for us to play with in case the waitress is slow," he said. That's my boy! (Normally I am opposed to props, but considering the adults were to be outnumbered, I kept my oppositions to myself.) Jiro, not one to miss his cue, grabbed the Leapster and stood next to the front door ready to bolt.
Warren pulled up and at 5:40 the four of us set out across the parking lot...where we soon ran into the Chockleys.
Stephanie:
When I heard there would be a Monkey Convergence on a Midtown patio in an hour or two, all I could think about were my pants. My office is usually below 60 degrees, so I don’t dress for the outside world. I dress for warmth, meaning that Friday I went to work in lined, wool, dry-clean-only pants. So in addition to knowing I would sweat like the proverbial whore, I also had to worry about nine children slinging ketchup in my direction. In the end I decided to risk it, because for some reason I have never really met the other DWM parents. Plus I have a cyber-crush on RJA, because his blog makes me laugh the most [say what!?—ed]. How could I pass up an opportunity to meet this group of Memphis-blogger rock stars, and to finally put names and faces to the Quartet and Miss M? To Bosco’s we go!
Warren:
Our arrival, with Team Chockley, was met with Boscos’ finest—a freshly clocked-in cadre of sharp dressed-in-black Generation Yers. We came not a moment too soon, just as Happy Hour was winding down, and Friday Night Out was gearing up. The hostess led us to our patio table, while her comrade assessed the high chair situation and from out of who knows what corner or closet, pulled out a dozen if not three or four clean high chairs. A clutch of brand new color crayons and shiny white paper [recycled beer menus—ed] for the monkeys appeared from thin air. The beer savant/wench recited the evening’s potation specials and took orders and then disappeared quicker than a hyperactive kid in a toy store. In no time most of us were getting our beer buzzes on. Within a span of ten minutes after our arrival, seating at the patio went from a few tables to a full deck.
Kristy:
Not long after I got home from work and the afternoon kiddie roundup, I called RJA to have the usual "what do you want for dinner" conversation, and he let me know there were rumblings of another monkey convergence underway. Being generally too foolish to know when I should be afraid, I said it sounded like fun, provided we could sit outside somewhere fairly close to home. A couple of hours later, we were all on our way to Bosco's. He dropped me off with all four kids to go "park the car," as if I didn't know that meant "make a break for it." I walked up toward the spacious deck with my brood in tow to the usual stares and expressions of incredulity that one medium-sizish woman can have this many kids. What, like it's hard? Anyway, we wound our way around through the restaurant and out onto the deck, where everyone else was already seated at the long table. I was a little bit confused by the chair distribution, since the remaining empty seats were scattered seemingly at random. It was like trying to get six seats together in a sold-out movie two minutes before the previews start. Nevertheless, I managed to get us all arranged with a spot left for Big Daddy (right next to Stephanie – see, maybe not so random? – Andria), who miraculously appeared a few minutes later. Sucker. I would have run for it.
RJA:
Who makes plans to eat for 16 – nine kids, mind you – 90 minutes before dinner time? Someone without kids, you say? Try again. Try someone with two monkeys of her own. How do you decline such an offer? How does one back out gracefully because there’s not enough time, not enough money, too many people, not enough energy or, still, enough money? You can’t. Once these things start, you can’t stop them. Dinner plans pack a force of their own and they won’t be stopped. And why wouldn’t you want to be part of a Monkey Convergence? To see what restaurants are made of, see just how much other diners will put up with. This Convergence promised to be bigger and better than the original.
I was told the reservations were for six o’clock. I was told wrong. After leaving work and collecting my family from home in record time we were called and chastised for being late. [My “chastisement went, “Hey, are y’all getting close?”--ed] It was just now six. As Overton Square continues its decline into ghost town status, Bosco’s is increasingly the place to eat and drink and be seen in Midtown. Because of this demand, the parking is out of control, so I dropped Kristy and The Quartet off at the door while I searched for a spot, which turned out to be in front of Oster Castle. As I walked back, I slowed. I considered. Kristy had the kids and I was just trusted to show up? There were going to be five other kids there besides mine, for God’s sake, why would I voluntarily show up for that? I was walking past the movie theater. Look, Little Miss Sunshine. I’d like to see that. It would be over about the time that raucous dinner is breaking up. They wouldn’t even miss me. I walked on. Paulette’s, isn’t there a bar in there? I could sit there, quietly, alone with my thoughts and a gin and tonic. Maybe I’ll even show up at the end of dinner to pay the tab. And yet I continued walking until I ended up right there on the patio of Bosco’s, passing through a field of pretty people as if in slow motion, heading for what appeared to be the lunchroom at any ordinary elementary school or daycare, with beer.
Warren:
In true ranger fashion, Satchel came with all the survival gear to outlast the foreseeable boredom in the event. Fortunately, our serviceperson Greg T. Bosco and his square-yet-hip-specs came to work needing to make some good tip money this night and was on a self-imposed tight schedule. The same cannot be said for the glacial arrival of the Alleys—one would presume a teacher and a business owner would know a thing or two about punctuality. Once the Alleys pulled into port, the convergence was complete, save for the noticeable absence of The Admiral, who was probably at the Salty Dog Saloon patting himself on the back for his ingenuity at getting out of this convergence.
As the seating arrangement worked out, I ended up anchoring down at the children’s corner, also referred to as Exile Island. I wasn’t complaining though—in our little corner I was the lord of the flies—besides, I could’ve been seated a few places down at the Korova Milk Bar with Steph’s and Kristy’s cute little droogs; or between Jiro and Stacey, who as soon as the beer came, gave Jiro a small taste of the beverage then for the rest of dinner, wrestled with him over it like two barflies over dregs in a Bukowski novel. I had to wear my freak blinders though, as I was seated across from the paraphagus twins Andria and Miss M—it was bad enough sitting next to them at Pete & Sam’s during the last convergence. Imagine my surprise and embarrassment when, ten minutes later, I learned they weren’t Siamese twins after Miss M “disjoined” from Andria to join S on Exile Island.
Andria:
As the last arrival at the first MC, I knew that I better be on time or face the not-so-silent wrath of the multi-breeders. It wasn’t really that big a deal, but the Alleys’ accidental and not all that noticeable delay did give us something to talk about while watching Stacey try to release her beer from Jiro. Man, does that kid love him some Flaming Stone! In a totally reasonable, non-authority-alarming amount, of course. Fortunately, the rest of the children seemed to be appeased by more age-appropriate diversions, like Satchel's backpack o' goodies (why Stacey is opposed to props, I have no earthly idea, but it’s probably related to her incomprehensible bias against portable DVD players on 12+ hour car rides).
Apparently I taunted the Monkey gods with my well-behaved child at the last convergence, so I was punished for my hubris with a seat in the pre-school section. There was an invisible yet clearly defined line right down the center of the table - on my right were the Chockleys and their almost disturbingly calm children, as well as the Alley adults and their laid-back bookends, C and GK.
But then on my left ... oh, my left. First, my own child, squeezed unwillingly into a high chair but willing to suffer the indignity if it meant she could sit next to S and devise their devious princess plots. Next to S were JP and Satchel, also united in some sort of covert fraternity of mayhem. Stacey and Warren were anchoring the corner opposite me, although I generally only saw the backs of their heads as they were turned around trying to detach Jiro from the deck's upper railing. Somewhere off in the distance, I could hear the sound of adult conversation, but the only words I could really pick out were Stacey's as she gently informed the waiter, "We're ready. To order. Now."
Kristy:
Being Stacey's [actually, Warren’s—ed] offspring, Satchel was well prepared for delays with a fun-filled bag of distractions. Being my offspring, S quickly insinuated herself in the middle of the fun end of the table and got to coloring. Why plan when other people do such a good job of it? She and JP stayed down at that end of the table, having a great time with Satchel and Miss M, and leaving me at the other end with only GK cradled serenely in her sling and C feeling and acting very grown up in the seat next to me. Only two kids! It was like a vacation.
Chip:
Stacey and I tried our best to keep Connor and Jiro occupied and happy while simultaneously maintaining some semblance of adult conversation. I think I heard the threatening words "you want to go home?" a few times. Didn't work though—Jiro just flashed that maniacal grin and continued his quest to stage dive off the patio onto the parking lot.
Connor kept saying, "Daddy, I want my brefast now." The kid has some kind of mental block about naming the meals of the day. Eventually, the food did arrive, and not a moment too soon—the parents' grip on keeping the monkeys happy was getting alarmingly precarious.
I love watching Connor cope with kids younger than he is trying to snatch his stuff. He turns on the "teacher mode," but in a real timid, uncomfortable way. This was the scene as Jiro was grabbing his crayons. And everything else in his vicinity. Connor said "Jiro... please don't hit me." I mean really, look out for Jiro when he gets a beer buzz on.
Stacey:
I’d like to interrupt the unbridled slandering of my second born to point out that despite my pleasant request to get the orders rolling, our waiter, Greg T. (according to the receipt), did an amazing job. No one wanted for water or beer or wine. Greg T. was on the ball. When it came to ordering, he didn’t need me making suggestions on how to keep it straight. He had his own system. Not once did I see him break a sweat, give us a dirty look, or do anything to imply that we were complete assholes for bringing a pack of wild monkeys to his very busy section. He even happily took a photo of us at my request. If he had a blog, he’d be the perfect man!
(Main Course)
Stephanie:
Let’s talk about the food at Bosco’s. This is a restaurant review, right? Well, let me just say how impressed I was with the children’s menu. Macaroni & cheese with fries? Fruit with fries? Brilliant! It’s like someone at Bosco’s came to my house and watched me feed my kid for a week. I was actually disappointed that the children’s pizzas weren’t offered with fries. In fact, what every restaurant should do is make a list of children’s food items and then let you pick the ones your child might eat on that particular day. “Ah, yes, we’d like the children’s plate with fries, noodles, and a cheese quesadilla. Extra ketchup, please! And M&Ms for dessert will be fine. Thank you very much.” Since I had already been informed that Connor would NOT be eating chicken nuggets this fine evening, we got the aforementioned mac & cheese and fruit plates. As you can guess, this means he had two orders of fries for dinner. I can’t really blame him, though. The fruit was all cantaloupe and honeydew. (Throw me a bone! Get an orange slice from the bar garnish tray or something- not melons only!) The macaroni was definitely, unmistakably Kraft. (Kind of disappointing when you’re paying $4 a plate.) Connor didn’t care, though. He was just happy to be at a restaurant, and excited to be around so many new people. (I think that’s what kept him calm—he gets a little overwhelmed when confronted with a new situation, and tends to sit back and take it all in before jumping in with both feet.)
Chip:
Yes, I guess I should mention something about my food. After all, I had the gall to get fish tacos at a brewpub/pizza joint. It was ahi tuna, with some sort of pico de gallo, with a smoky sour cream sauce. The "shell" was actually a crispy wonton. The tuna was very fresh, and the whole thing worked well. My questionable culinary choice was vindicated.
Kristy:
As Steph pointed out, the kids’ menu at Bosco's is sheer genius. I ordered the fruit-and-fries combo for S, and small cheese pizzas for each of the boys. GK still eats free at the 24-hour milk bar. I had the Pollo Diablo pizza, which was a little more diablo-ish than I expected, but was nevertheless very good. Its ability to be eaten one-handedly with little mess was also a plus. As we waited for our food and then ate, the Chockleys and I had a lovely conversation on such topics as old and mutual acquaintances, the lack of clearly defined tasks and sense of productivity inherent to the teaching profession, whether Vincent Van Gogh was an impressionist or something else (C's question), how funny it would have been if they had named their son Brock Lee ("Broccoli Chockley"), GK's crazy mohawk-prone hair, and more. This was accomplished by virtue of the fact that both Steph and I talk more than most of you ever imagined possible. That, and the fact that I left whatever adults happened to be nearest them to deal with any issues S and JP might be having way down at their end of the table.
Andria:
Oh, don’t worry about us! Everything’s fine down here! No problems at all! Hey, can I get a towel? No, a bigger one. Maybe two? Greg? Where’s Greg?
Stacey:
I had a hard time deciding what to order since I love so many things on the Bosco’s menu, especially the spinach and artichoke dip, fried chicken salad, ahi tuna salad, and the California pizza. When it was my turn to order (30 minutes after being seated thanks to RJA—a.k.a. “the funniest blogger ever”), I went with the special Jerk Chicken pizza. I don’t remember it being especially yummy, but I also don’t remember leaving any on my plate. Satchel said he wanted chicken tenders, but changed his order to pizza once he discovered that was what JP wanted. Jiro wanted pizza too, but I ordered him chicken tenders in an attempt to be one step ahead of the game when Satchel decided that he really did want chicken after all. (In the end, Jiro was perfectly content to eat French fries and a part of one tender and Satchel didn’t stop talking long enough to eat anything.)
Warren:
As an appreciator of fusion cuisine (the hybridization of Southern died & fried with Yankee savoir faire, a.k.a. hoi polloi-hoity toity cuisine), I ordered the Blackened Grouper Sandwich, described on the menu as “grouper filet dredged in Cajun spices & blackened, served on hoagie with shredded lettuce, tomato & remoulade sauce.” And despite 1) being on a low-cholesterol diet and 2) Greg T. being stumped by my question on what kind of oil they fried their fries in, I ordered the side of fries instead of the health conscious side of fruit. What the hell and who am I kidding—for the extra 75-cents I went for the garlic and parmesan-smothered fries. There would be no rocking the rafters at Oster Castle tonight.
Satchel switched his order from the chicken tenders to the pepperoni pizza after his dinner date, JP, ordered the cheese pizza. While waiting for the food to arrive, the monkeys (Satchel, JP, Miss M, and S) colored and chatted away. Satchel and JP discussed their Halloween plans while coloring in an X-men coloring book (JP will be borrowing Satchel’s Spiderman suit), and post-dinner playground plans (Satchel red cobra ninja and JP green cobra ninja will be taking over the playground by climbing up the top of the tunnel slide and shooting fire down it). I was casually informed by the cobra ninjas that JP would be riding with us to the playground in Mommy’s car and would be needing the extra booster chair from my vehicle. Meanwhile, Jiro would take the occasional break from beating on…err playing with…Connor, and vault over to the corner to grab crayons, or whatever object some other monkey was playing with, or to spill someone else’s water, or to try and confiscate my beer. We had just come up with the secret cobra ninja handshake when the arrival of the meal was announced…
Satchel’s pepperoni pizza was literally a pepperoni pizza: a 6-inch pie with a 4-inch bologna-size slice of pepperoni with puddles of red grease on top. Fresh out of the oven, it was too hot to eat. While it cooled, always eager to expand the children’s gustatory vocabulary, I offered my posse a taste of my pungent fries. “Satchel, JP…would you like some garlic fries?” (Satchel is more into the idea of garlic, rather than the actual eating of it.) He interrupts JP’s cheese pizza with a garlic fry in his face, “Hey J, Hey J, Hey J, when you eat garlic you can kill vampires by spitting poison ivy in their eyes.”
Jiro’s chicken strips and fries, ordered off the kids’ menu, was enough to feed a grown-up Jiro. I’m sure if he had an ice cold beer to wash it all down with, he could have managed to make a happy plate. Hmmm I wonder if Bosco’s has non-alcoholic beer on the menu?
Andria:
I have a feeling that giving Jiro near-beer would result in the same unplanned glass emptying (“spill” is such a blamey word) that happened to his water, made just a teence more bothersome by the open iron-work of the patio tables (glad I was in a skirt and $18 shoes). [I thought the grate was awesome. It prevented the water from rolling all over the numerous coloring books and electronic devices!--ed] Out of self-preserving habit, I consumed my California pizza in 14 seconds and prepared myself to start the “please, please eat your dinner” song and dance for Miss M, but she was actually eating her grilled cheese and fries with surprising speed and enthusiasm. So I was left alone with my empty plate, trying in vain to jump into the adult conversation swirling to my right while still keeping a vigilant eye on the refueled monkeys. S and Miss M started playing Blue’s Clues with ripped-out pages of my date book, although I don’t remember our good friend Steve ever darting out in front of busy servers in order to find clues.
RJA:
The advantage to adding families to the Monkey Convergence is that the table gets longer, thus increasing the chances that you will be distanced from your progeny…or Jiro. I didn’t plan the seating arrangement and I don’t know that it was planned, but I was seated at the far end from the Kids Corner, between Mrs. Chockleyblog, whom I’d never met before, and Kristy. Now, Kristy can talk, there’s no debate, so to speak, there. It’s like an Olympic event for her. This is no surprise. It’s no great shock to her that I’m writing this here. In the 19 years we’ve been together I’ve actually heard about 14 years worth of what she’s said simply because my brain couldn’t hold the rest. And I’ve never met anyone who could match her devotion to the spoken word. That is, until I met Mrs. Chockleyblog (who was wearing wool pants in the 90-degree heat for some reason). So these two talked…and talked…and talked, and the kids, the noisy ones anyway, were at the opposite end of the table. I was left to enjoy my beer, the food and the occasional conversational snippets with Mr. Chockleyblog when our wives were taking in air. (Turns out he’s as big a fan as I am of Harry’s cooking over at Elliot’s Restaurant on South Second downtown – try it for lunch!) I had something Italian-like for supper this evening. It was deemed Italian due to the presence of red sauce, some pasta and a pound or more of cheese melted on top. The beer was good, though. Some sort of lager. I wish I’d ordered one of the pizzas. They looked good.
The scene at the other end of the table was entertaining, being that it was at the other end of the table. And with the way I was wedged in between the table and the patio railing there is no way anyone – other parents, diners or, ultimately the State of Tennessee – could hold me responsible for stopping anyone from getting hurt or from injuring anyone else. It looked like arts and crafts hour at Camp Oster-Greenberg-Cline down there with all the crayons and paper. Jiro got so close to a prison break by going over the railing a couple of times that I actually started rooting for the little guy. I don’t think he would have had a hard time out there in the real world on his own, he was almost within sight of his own house and Yosemite Sam’s is right next door, I hear they’re good with kids. Andria’s placement at the kid’s table should teach her for the next convergence what happens when you don’t pressure your spouse into coming along, and when you insist on only having one child. Next time, perhaps, I’ll volunteer to sit with the kids, to conduct the coloring and handle the ordering and expected spills. But, more than likely, I’ll drop my family off and go see that movie instead.
(Dessert)
Andria:
There’s a reason the monkey convergences come together less than two hours before mealtime. We all know that’s the most dangerous time of the day – we’re hungry, tired, and lacking creative cooking ideas. Plus the kids are operating on some alien plane, and the tiny voice in our head says, “Hey, maybe they’ll act better around other kids. Or at least no one will notice mine specifically.” In that brief period of the day, we’re desperate enough to slog out to a public place and risk massive humiliation and/or property damage, just for the chance to talk to some other adults and maybe, just maybe, eat a full meal in one sitting. And because all parents are gamblers at heart, we couldn’t just quit after the stunning success of the first convergence. Now that we know it’s possible for ludicrously large numbers of children and substantially outnumbered parents to enjoy an evening together, we’re hooked. And we want you to be, too. Don’t be afraid, people. Get out there and converge! And when you do, be sure to stare at the quiet, childless people with a look of barely contained disgust – I mean, who do they think they are, making the wait staff run all over for their tiny little orders? Isn’t that what Hot Pockets are for?
Ahem. Anyway. On to the dramatic conclusion of Monkey Convergence Part Deux …
Warren:
Towards the end of the convergence, things quickly began to discombobulate. Though their bellies seemed full, the monkeys were still hungry for adventure. For most of the monkeys this involved climbing the deck railing (my backrest) and leaning out over the hard asphalt several feet below. For Jiro, the time was right to make his escape, and he rushed to find a way out, dodging in between other tables and using other diners on the patio as human shields to block the grasp of his embarrassed daddy. Of course I would tell these bemused diners (all the while pointing in the direction of RJA and Chip), I was only the uncle and that I was appalled at Jiro’s behavior.
Stephanie:
I can’t let this review end without pointing out that Warren sat at one corner of the table, RJA at the opposite corner, and Andria in the middle, yet they all complained about being in the kids section. There were nine of them and seven of us. It was all the kids’ section! (Much to the delight of everyone on the patio, I’m sure.) There’s a chance this meal reinforced our decision to stop after two kids. I would be scared to live in a house where the adults are always outnumbered and every meal is a monkey convergence.
Team Chockley was honored to be a part of MC2: Electric Boogaloo. It was fun to be around other adults, and the extra kids kept Connor occupied enough that he didn’t bolt out of his chair, continually interrupt if I dared speak to someone besides him, or even ask to go pee. [Not a single one of the nine monkeys ever once went to the bathroom! (Except maybe GK, but that doesn’t count.) How is that possible? –ed] I’m so looking forward to MC Episode III- Revenge of the Monkeys that I came to work today in machine-washable pants and a casual shirt, just in case. Anybody free tonight? Central Barbeque has a great patio. . .
Chip:
So yes, we proclaim Bosco’s to be a kid-friendly restaurant. This is evidenced by a separate kid’s menu, where all items are served with a side of fries (except the pizzas) and a willingness to accept otherwise socially unacceptable behavior. It’s adult-friendly too, due to the great beer, good food, and cool patio.
Did we really just spend more time writing about this dining experience than it took to actually live it?
RJA:
Dining With Monkeys has become more than just going out with our children and writing about the funny things that they do. It’s about going out with friends, and writing about the funny things they do. Like Chip, for instance. After dinner we all decided to meet up at Peabody Park so the monkeys could run wild and get themselves hungry enough for whatever food they may demand be prepared for them at bedtime. Chip, however, went to the wrong park. Or he claimed to, but I still maintain he got caught trying to escape. Apparently the Chockleyblogs travel in different vehicles, much like the President and Vice President. We would do that, but I would probably insist Kristy take The Cabinet (or, Quartet) with her. At the park the kids ran and ran and swung and argued over the ball that Andria was hogging. We stayed until it was too dark to see and, for fear of the homeless who come out of the woods at night and eat little monkeys, we called it a night. The Quartet was good and tired and (mostly) ready for bed when we got home. It was a fun night had by all and I’m looking forward to the next Monkey Convergence. I propose Warren, Chip and I ride to the restaurant together. We’ll meet the rest of the group there. I promise.
Stacey:
That’s right, folks, a one hour meal only took the seven of us seven days (and counting) to review. But, to me, that’s all part of the fun.
Every few months, it seems I find this blog in a new state. I started it off to complain freely about poor service. Then when going out to eat became fun again, I used it to record the mayhem my monkeys caused. Now it seems I use this blog to build community—a community of like-minded, hungry, and adventurous breeders.
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