Dino's

Dino’s Grill
645 N. McLean Blvd.
901.278.9127

Team Chockley & Team Oster had an impromptu mini-monkey convergence before the Rock-n-Romp set-up meeting on Friday night. Chip emailed me and said, “Wanna go out to eat first? Back Yard Burger?”

Why is everyone so friggin obsessed with Back Yard Burger? I asked myself. Was my review that enticing?

“How about somewhere new?” I suggested. (“New” meaning somewhere we haven’t covered on dwm, of course.) “What about Dino’s?”

Chip reminded me that Connor (age 3) would not eat anything other than a chicken nugget/strip, slice of pizza, or grilled cheese sandwich. I got on the horn to see if Dino’s had any of these items. Chicken strips—check. Grilled cheese—check. Pizza—no dice. Okay, so Connor would at least have two choices.

After a whirlwind tour of every bike shop in the Midtown area (Jiro’s 3rd bday was coming up), the monkeys and I arrived at Dino’s at 5:30pm. After circling the block a few times trying to figure out where to park, we met Chip & Connor in the parking lot behind the building at 5:38pm. Steph and Chloe (age 1) pulled in soon after. (Warren was still at the office and unsure as to whether he would make it.)

When we walked through the door, it was clear that there was going to be some mild maneuvering of tables. I opted to let Team Chockley work it out while we made a pre-emptive strike on the bathroom. (Turns out we got a nice tour of the restaurant and kitchen on our way to the catacombs where the toilets were located.)

With empty bladders and clean hands, we returned to the table to find Steph (and Chloe, I presume) absolutely ecstatic about the availability of whole milk on the menu. I took my seat at the end of the table placing Satchel (age 5) next to Chip and Jiro next to Steph. As I tried to figure out what to order, Jiro lunged at the cooler right behind us and started demanding orange soda. Satchel joined in and soon they each had a soda. (Jiro ultimately went with grape.) Apparently I had set an awful precedent the night before at El Palmar.

“What are you guys getting?” I asked Team Chockley.

Much to my delight they were considering the Calamari and Provolone Napoleon as appetizers, thus allowing me to try two things without paying for them.

Jiro was happily pounding his knife and fork on the table, every so often pausing to tap me on the arm with one of them. When he crazily started waving his knife at me, I snatched it away and sat on it. “Don’t play with your knife!” I barked.

“WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!” he wailed as I looked back at the menu and cringed. Before I could come up with something magical to say, the waiter deposited a handful of crackers in front of Jiro.

He went silent and soon every monkey was happily eating crackers.

“I want butter,” Satchel said as the waiter went by.

Then every monkey was happily eating crackers and butter. Except Jiro, who had no knife. He looked pleadingly at me. “You promise not to play with it?” I asked.

He snuffled and nodded.

I handed it over and went back to the menu. Hmmm…lasagna…ravioli…spaghetti and meatballs…

“I want steak,” Satchel piped in, causing me to lose track of my order.

“Steak?” I said. “What about spaghetti and meatballs or ravioli?”

“I want steak,” he said.

I looked over the menu and they did have a grilled hamburger steak and fries for $9.95. “Okay,” I said, “As long as you share with Jiro.”

Team Chockley put in their order and were told that there was neither Calamari or Provolone Napoleon. (I’m not sure who was more upset, me or them.) “What about the Bruschetta? Can I have that?” Chip asked, exasperated. (As exasperated as Chip can get.)

“Yes,” the waiter replied.

“I guess I’m not getting any apps,” Steph said.

“That spinach and artichoke dip sounds good,” I said.

“Oh, alright,” she said. Then she ordered a half dozen Raviolis for herself, Chicken Strips for Connor, and a Grilled Cheese for Chloe.

I looked at the waiter and said, “I’ll have the Lobster and Crawfish Bisque.”

He chuckled and said, “We don’t have that either.”

We all glared at him.

“Nobody ever orders this stuff, so we are in the process of changing the menu,” he explained.

Just then Warren came in, so the waiter gave us a few more minutes. As I made room for the captain of Team Oster at the table he looked at the monkeys and then me. “So do they just get soda every night now?”

“Uh…here’s a menu,” I said.

He quickly decided on the Muffaletta and I too opted for the Ravioli. While we waited for our dinner, I happily munched on Steph’s spinach and artichoke dip (which was really the best spinach and artichoke dip I’ve ever had).

The monkeys were busy eating every cracker Dino had in stock. It was close to six now and Steph started making jokes, referring to a Seinfeld episode in which George insists that his parents take him out to eat at a normal hour. (That is to say, we were surrounded by people of our grandparents’ generation.)

With no transitional statement at all, Satchel said, “Hey mom, remember those dice things we had that go on the bike tire?”

“Uh, no…” I said, looking at Warren to interpret.

“You know, the valve caps that look like dice. We used to have one,” he explained.

“Okay,” I said, still unsure. “What about them?”

“I found some at the bicycle store,” he said as he pulled a two pack out of his jacket pocket.

“Satchel!” I screamed. “What did I tell you about stealing!?”

Satchel has been on a crime spree the past few weeks. Everywhere we go, I have to watch him or he’ll shove things in his pockets just because he “wants” them.

“How could you let him do that?” Warren asked, appalled.

“In my defense, I can only say that I stopped him from stealing a hundred other things along the way.”

I could see Team Chockley trying not to judge me as Warren informed Satchel that he would be returning the dice to the store immediately following dinner. I thought back to my clepto days, and the humiliating experience of my mom forcing me to declare my evil-doings to the manager of Rex-all, and hoped this would nip Satchel’s crime spree in the bud. Thankfully the food arrived and we had something else to focus on. Chip’s Bruschetta was beautiful. (I took a picture of it because I know how much he likes that.)

The Muffaletta was enormous. And so was the monkeys’ hamburger steak. Thankfully the waiter confirmed that it need not be served with gravy or onions, so the boys basically had a big hunk of ground meat to split. I cut into it to start divvying it up. I noticed it was rather pink and the waiter commented, “I told them medium rare, I hope that’s okay.” I do like real steak medium rare—or just plain rare, actually—but not hamburger. The monkeys didn’t seem to care and I had already mangled it, so I smiled and said, “It’s fine.”

The raviolis were quite delicious, and thanks to the ravioli making party at Castillo Alley in November, I felt that I could say that with confidence. (Of course they were nothing compared to the Alley’s, but they were delicious nonetheless.) As a special bonus, I got the (very fancy) Italian salad that came with the monkeys’ hamburger steak.

Halfway through my meal, Jiro was ready for his second visit to the catacombs. As we made our way through the restaurant, I noticed that it was filling up with young families. (I guess they were waiting until it was late--6:30pm--to come out.) I saw several Rhodes alum types and even a few familiar faces from the Rock-n-Romps.

Which reminded me, we had a meeting to get to! We packed up the few leftovers we had, the remnants of the grape soda, paid the tab, and hit the road.

Memphis Pizza Cafe

Memphis Pizza Café
2087 Madison
901-726-5343

I've written about The Memphis Pizza Cafe here before, but this latest visit was a true test of kid-friendliness. An impromptu monkey convergence was called on Friday on behalf of C's birthday and the opportunity to see live music. I suggested we (Team Oster, Team S.A.M., and Team Urf!) go to the Pizza Cafe and sit on the patio since the weather was mild and the monkeys were sure to be wild. (Now that our children are basically roommates I expected them to go crazy from the get go.)

I called the Pizza Cafe on my way home from work in an attempt to pave the way for an enjoyable experience:

"Pizza Cafe, can I help you?"

"Hi, is your patio open?"

"No."

"Oh. Well...um...I have a group of ten or so coming at 6:00..."

"We don't take reservations. It isn't too crowded now, but you'll just have to wait and see."

"Uh, okay thanks."

I hung up and debated whether to call the crew and alert them. Team Urf! was already rightly concerned about the service (as was I), but I decided to just let the chips fall where they may. After filling my backpack with a few coloring books and crayons, Warren, the boys, and I decided to walk over. We narrowly escaped becoming road kill on Madison and then discovered that the place was packed. Uh oh. Thankfully Team S.A.M. had already secured a table.

We sat down and immediately began deciding what to order even though Team Urf! had yet to arrive. The monkeys 9Satchel, 4, and Jiro, 2) had been napless all week and I wasn't taking any chances. I ordered a dinner salad to share with Warren and a medium pepperoni pizza to share with the monkeys. Warren ordered a sausage and black olive calzone. Team S.A.M. ordered a medium pizza--half pepperoni and half sun dried tomato and artichoke hearts. And a cup of black olives. "I'll take one of those too," I said remembering this trick from our very first convergence at Pete & Sam's.

Team Urf! arrived before we got our salad. After figuring out how to free RJA from the kiddie table, Kristy put in their order for a medium cheese pizza and a medium chicken supreme. And beer. Upon discovering what JP planned to eat, Satchel piped in with, "I want cheese pizza, not pepperoni."

I ignored him, planning to pluck pepperonis if necessary.

Miss M stayed in Andria's lap, Jiro stayed in mine, and C chose to immerse himself between adults. Satchel, Somerset, JP, and a sleeping GK stayed in their seats and carried on a lively conversation at their end of the table. Satchel had a slight spill of water, but other than that their behavior was perfect. After eating his share of black olives and crackers in my lap, Jiro moved to the kids end of the table and joined in. I saw him chew on JP's head for a brief second, but for the most part he behaved quite well.

Our pizzas, even Team Urf!'s, came out fairly quickly and we all happily dug in. There was a lot of lip concerning the pepperoni at both ends, but it did all get eaten eventually. At one point Kristy--an adult--spilled her beer on the much sought after cheese pizza. "Just give it to Jiro," I said.

To even things out, Miss M spilled her drink at our end of the table, but lucky for us our waitress was taking a smoke break nearby and had it wiped up before it even fully left the cup.

I was impressed.

Better yet, she brought out everyone's check perfectly split up and even chased Team Urf! out the back door when she discovered they forgot their leftovers on the table.

As I sat drinking RJA's abandoned Red Stripe while waiting for Warren to return with the car, I marveled at the whole experience. Good service, good food, good monkeys, and best of all, good seating arrangements! I guess I was a little too quick in declaring the end of the monkey convergences.

El Porton

El Porton
65 S Highland St
452-7330

After having my Beer Garden Fantasy crushed last Friday, we made a quick last minute decision to take our crew of twenty (10 monkeys and 10 parents) to El Porton. It was a pretty easy call considering El Porton has a very nice patio, quick service, and chips & salsa at the ready.

As Steph mentioned, Team Chockley was the first to arrive. Although denied a table for twenty, they did manage to get a spot that allowed us to easily add table upon table as each consecutive family made their entrance. (Unbeknownst to them, their decision to place Chloe and Connor on the west side of the table set off an undeniable pattern: Multi-breeders with rowdy children at one end and single-breeders with well-behaved angels at the other. You can guess where I was.)

Warren had to work late, so the monkeys and I joined the Chockleys for some cheese dip and conversation. The weather was beautiful and there were plenty of families with young children occupying the patio. I felt very relaxed and confident about the upcoming meal.

Then Team Alley arrived. Satchel immediately shunned his cheese dip in favor of scaling the patio railing with JP. (C, S and Jiro soon followed.)

Now that the Alley monkeys and the Greenberg-Oster monkeys have spent almost every weekend together in some form for the past few months, there’s no 30 minute “warm up” time at the beginning of the meal in which the parents could normally get the bulk of the ordering, waiting, and eating out of the way before losing control. Due to our stunted arrival times, the presence of one menu, and the level of activity amongst our children, it took quite some time for us to actually place our dinner orders. (Inexplicably, Kristy was the only member of Team Alley to actually order any food.)

Once the Chockleys made their exit, most of the monkeys congregated to the eastern end of our tables. Thankfully the patio was enclosed and the monkeys stayed pretty contained in the small area between our tables and said railing, but their shrieking, jumping, hooting and hollering was a bit much even for El Porton. “People hate us,” I said to Kristy.

“I hate us,” she replied.

I tried my best not to get stressed and to make the rounds among the single-breeders, but I could imagine what everyone was thinking. Please don’t let Jiro eat my monkey while Stacey blithely chats away.

The overall service seemed slow, but considering our girth and demeanor, I’d say the service could have been a lot worse. Satchel did get pretty antsy and asked every few minutes, “Where is my dinner?” But it did seem to make him extra hungry when it did arrive, because he ate almost all of his tacos. Jiro had no interest in his rice and beans, but happily ate the chicken tenders and French fries previously abandoned by Connor. My usual cheesesteak burrito was tasty, but sorely lacking in cheese. Whatever Warren had must have been good because I never saw what it was. The thing that seemed to draw the most interest from my dining companions was my beer. At least every person over the age of 30 (and one aged 2.5) asked me, “Ooh what are you drinking?” when they saw the frosty mug before me.

“Uh…Bud Light,” I replied.

“Oh,” they said dejectedly as they ordered their fancy Negro Modelos.

Jiro took the news that he couldn’t drink my beer pretty well and was satisfied by his water for the most part. On one of our bathroom runs, he spotted the drink fountain and happily rushed over and pleaded for “Juice!” (I later caught him sneaking a sip of Warren’s beer when he thought no one was looking.)

I desperately wanted Andria to get some practice for the looming Funniest Mom in America contest, but she flatly refused to do her schtick for us. She did, however, do some improve when Shiloh, who was busy nursing Lydia in her lap, asked in all seriousness, “Has anyone seen Lydia?”

Andria replied, “You know you’ve been nursing too long when…”

Maybe you had to be there.

When we were all done eating and unable to justify ordering more beer and tormenting the patrons and employees of El Porton with our wild children for a little while longer, we decided to call it a night.

“What next?” RJA asked.

“Ice cream?” I suggested as if sugar was just the thing the amped up monkeys needed at 8pm. “Peabody Park? It can’t be that scary in the dark, can it?”

Silence.

“Anybody want to have everybody over?” I asked hopefully.

More silence.

“I guess this is it then,” RJA said.

“I guess so.”

It was disappointing that we had no where safe and fun to go with ten monkeys on a Friday night, but we took solace in the fact that we left the restaurant with no casualties and hopefully without scaring anyone into sterility.

The mood was heavy though. I sensed the end of a brief but fun era.

“The next time we do this, it’s got to be at someone’s house,” Kristy said.

“I know,” I agreed. “But I don’t want to wait weeks or months to get together again.”

“I know,” she said.

Bosco's Squared

Below is a review done by the bulk of DWM's contributors after having a meal together, monkeys included. We call it Monkey Convergence 2: Electric Boogaloo


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.

Pete & Sam's

Sadly, I bring you the final installment of the Monkey Convergence at Pete & Sam’s from Andria. Thanks for humoring us! Unless we hear some complaints, we may do it again soon. But invite more people, like the Chockleys.

As the last person to weigh in on the Monkey Convergence (assuming Warren and Admiral Jeff are still in their stress-induced comas), I feel it's my duty to make sure the record is accurate and complete. It's my pleasure to bring you ...

The DWM True Monkeywood Story!

[cue ominous voiceover guy]
Thursday, June 15, 3:38 pm, downtown Memphis: in a tobacco-fueled moment of delirium, RJA suggests that Stacey and several guest bloggers, all go to the same restaurant at the same time. Those still capable of basic math smile patronizingly and say, "sure, sure ... sometime."

Sunday, July 9, 2:47 pm, JP's birthday party, Kristy & RJA's front porch: suffering the effects of moonbounce-induced heat exhaustion, a small gaggle of DWM bloggers discusses possible locations for this purely theoretical monkey convergence. The exceedingly brilliant idea of visiting The Blue Monkey is shot down by one (roller)blogger who seems to think bars are inappropriate venues for large gatherings of children. The field is narrowed to two finalists: Jasmine and Pete & Sam's.

Wednesday, July 12, 1:19 pm-Friday, July 14, 4:59 pm, various Memphis workplaces: no fewer than 27 emails are sent in an effort to finalize the convergence. Jasmine is the winner. And then not. A last-minute audible is called and reservations are made at Pete & Sam’s. For 12. But what the DWM bloggers didn't know is that ... one of them had a secret.

[interior: dimly lit room, a female form in silhouette speaks in a privacy-protected distorted voice]
Anonymous Blogger: "Look, I ... I just don't really like Pete & Sam's. I never have. Maybe it's the peppers in the gravy, I don't know. But after all the debating back and forth, I was just too tired to object. And Je ... I mean, my husband was all excited about the tiny pizzas, so I figured maybe it would be better this time."

Friday, July 12, 6:34 pm, Pete & Sam's parking lot: [interior: anonymous Toyota] "Holy crap, that's Stacey's car ... and that's Kristy's car. Everyone's actually here already!? Man, the multi-breeders are going to give us crap for being late."

Friday: July 12, 6:36 pm, Pete & Sam's secluded back dining room: crap ensues.

6:39 pm: in an amazing stunt of accidental convenience, each family is seated at their own table, making the separation of checks 14% less annoying for the waitress. Drinks are ordered.

6:41 pm: Drinks are spilled.

6:42-7:01 pm: Monkey level reaches a steady 4 on the Cornelius Scale (10=damn dirty
apes). Most monkeys are still seated, but the restlessness is palpable. As the youngest walking member of Team Monkey, Jiro breaks the tension by trying to wiggle/fall/negotiate out of his high chair. On the south end of the table, a saintly almost-3-year-old sits quietly on her mother's lap while said mother pretends that this uncharacteristic display of shyness-related calm is actually the result of excellent parenting.

7:02-7:13 pm: The adults grow increasingly unnerved by the monkeys' collective reserve. The children are chattering pleasantly, fewer than 3 objects have become airborne, and there have even been smatterings of grown-up conversation.

7:14 pm: Food arrives, accompanied by a side order of monkey sauce. The table is suddenly aflurry with activity, very little of which seems related to eating. This is when two DWM myths are exposed. 1) Stacey's children really aren't as pinball-esque as we've been led to believe; she just likes writing every single little infraction down in her teeny notebook while she urges Warren to contain them, and 2) RJA's children aren't quite as angelic as assumed; he just drinks over the chaos. And Andria's monkey? Still sitting like a parochial school librarian, eating a bowl of black olives.

7:15 pm: Andria remembers too late that she dislikes the chicken parmesano, which is basically just an over-steamed chicken breast covered in sauce with a slice of mozzarella on top. By the time she recalls that she sort of likes the ravioli and tries that instead, it's cold. Her monkey is consuming a reasonable amount of mini-pizza and secretly plotting her monkey debut.

7:24 pm: In between bathroom trips and sub-table child extractions, the adults have finished their meals. The Monkey Level is approaching 9 when the checks arrive. Even Andria's cherubic child has dismounted her mother's lap and is joining the nerve-fraying fray. Amidst bribes involving lollipops, gumballs and monkey bars, the entire crew is slowly relocated to the lobby and then toward their own cars.

7:33 pm, Peabody Park: All three families rendezvous, as much to let the adults work out their tensed up shoulders by pushing swings as to get the kids unwound before bed.

7:42 pm: Somewhere in the humid Memphis dusk, a voice is heard saying, "That wasn't
so bad. We should do it again." Followed by various mutterings such as, "yeah," "maybe," "more liquor."

[interior: back to dimly lit room, a female form and a hopscotching toddler in silhouette]
Anonymous Blogger: "I'm actually glad we ended up at Pete & Sam's, because I think the real point of the trip was to show that families can still have social lives. We don't have to be terrified of going out in groups. It even makes it a little easier to have more kids around, because they entertain each other and the adults can play zone defense if needed. There's really nothing to be afraid of. Except the damn chicken parmesano."

See more Pete & Sam's Monkey Convergence reviews by RJA, Kristy and Stacey.

Pete & Sam's

The self-indulgence continues! Check out Kristy's totally different take on our convergence of monkeys.

Pete & Sam's Restaurant
3886 Park Avenue
458-0694

Pete and Sam’s was my favorite restaurant when I was a kid, even though I probably only ate there a handful of times with my parents. Then, as now, there was no kids’ menu—just yummy Italian food. I’ve always been a sucker for a good red sauce. For some reason, though, I haven’t frequented this restaurant as an adult, probably because the location is outside my usual midtown/downtown orbit. The one time we went after having C was for a huge family dinner. One year old at the time, C fell backwards out of his high chair just as the waitress handed me my salad, landing with the back of his head and no other part of his body on the hard floor. We left for the ER without eating. He had only a mild concussion, but perhaps my love for Pete and Sam’s was a little bruised because we hadn’t been back until now.

After rejecting Jasmine as the site of the Monkey Convergence on the grounds that there was nothing there our kids would eat (and not because I don’t like Thai food, ahem), I was happy to agree to Pete and Sam’s. We were seated at a long table that made adult conversation even more difficult than the presence of our consolidated collection of urchins. I checked out the old school décor and the surprising number of very well-groomed, glossy young women (I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed this, by the way) as we waited to order. I made the foolish mistake of hauling in the baby “bucket” and was rewarded by an instantly awake and wanting to nurse baby. I discovered that my choice of outfit was less nursing-friendly than I thought when I heard RJA mutter “Nice” and looked down to see a little more upper-boob than I’d realized I was showing. Oh well. Mom’s gotta eat, baby’s gotta nurse. Soon I popped GK into the sling and gave her the newly acquired, much dreaded and hideously ugly pacifier, causing Stacey to exclaim “What is that?” and lunge for the notepad we had just been making fun of.

Before long we had ordered and the kids were happily swilling ice water from the little glasses and pitcher that were left on the table. I ordered eggplant parmesan with an Italian salad. One of the great things about this restaurant is the sides. You get two sides with the “specialties,” and the choices include a little pizza. I ordered spaghetti and ravioli as my sides and planned to give S the ravioli since she claimed that was what she wanted. I also ordered a large cheese pizza for the boys, half of which came home with us after I first left it on the table and later left it in the van all night. The food seemed a little slow in coming, so I traveled down to the other end of the table to chat with Andria and Jeff for a bit. Somewhere in there I made at least two trips with S to the bathroom, possibly prompted by my promise that I was NOT taking her after my food came. She has a habit of expressing the need as soon as my food hits the table. That gave me a chance to chat with Stacey, who was hanging out in the bathroom while Satchel sat with the stall door open letting everyone know he had to poop.

Back at the table, the food started to arrive. I enjoyed my salad despite a huge drip of oily dressing falling miraculously through my cleavage and to my belly without hitting cloth or the baby. Eating across a baby in a sling can be tricky, but it’s better than the alternative. My eggplant was weirdly sweet, which is not a quality I enjoy in non-dessert dishes, but the sauce was good on the spaghetti and the ravioli S did not end up eating was surprisingly delicious. Unfortunately, in lieu of eating, she opted to lie on the floor under the table and yell “No Scooby-Doo, your mom eats cat poop!” at Satchel. It must be love. I think her Daddy threatened to take her to the car, but she acted like that was a great idea, so I had to resort to the scary mommy voice to make her cease and desist and get up off the floor. Next time, I’m leaving her in the car. On the way out, a waitress came up to look at the baby and said “Oh, look how sweet she is in there! Is she going to fall out of that thing?” “Yes,” I replied smilingly. “I put her in here and then just walk around waiting for her to fall out on the hard floor. Then I put her right back in.” She looked at me uncertainly for a second before laughing and saying “I didn’t really think she was going to fall out.”

See more Pete & Sam's Monkey Convergence reviews by RJA, Andria and Stacey.

Pete & Sam's

Here's RJA's review for your reading pleasure.

Pete & Sam's Restaurant
3886 Park Avenue
458-0694

Monkey Convergence was on. It was on like a dare, like a double-dog dare. “You don’t want any part of my kids in a restaurant.”
“Your kids don’t scare me. Have you met my kids?”
“Your kids? Have you met my savages?”
“My kids bite and are very likely rabid.”

And so on.

But where to go? My sister and brother-in-law, for years, have come over to our house for dinner on Thursday nights…well, not last week…or the week before now that I think about it. Okay, they used to come over for dinner regularly, and it was inevitable that the first half hour to 45 minutes would be spent in this sort of conversation:

“What do you want to eat?”
“I don’t know, what do you want?”
“I don’t care, I’ll eat anything.”
“Sandwiches?”
“Nah.”

And so on.

So add another couple into that mix, along with seven kids, and all the time in the world to plan the thing. Or so we thought. We’d agreed on last Friday night as the night, but at 5:30 we were still bouncing E-mails all over Memphis trying to agree on where exactly to eat. We almost went to Jasmine, in Cooper-Young. Even got so far as a reservation. But then a last-minute objection by Kristy put us at our alternate location, Pete & Sam’s. And I’m glad it did (as are the good people at Jasmine, no doubt).

We all met at Pete & Sam’s – Stacey & Warren with Satchel & Jiro, Kristy & me with The Quartet, yet somehow Guest Blogger Andria & Admiral Jeff got away without bringing a kid. Let me say this before any sort of review begins – you’ve all been reading Dining With Monkeys since way back in December ’05, but how many of you actually get the chance to dine with The Monkeys? Well, let me tell you then, it’s all true. Everything you’ve read. These kids are out of control, they’re under the table, they’re on top of the table, they’re hanging from light fixtures and using the potted plants for toilets. Meanwhile, their parents just laugh at each other’s filthy jokes, oblivious to everything except their tumblers full of Tom Collinses.

I’m joking, of course. The Monkeys are delightful, as were all the children present (why didn’t Guest Blogger Andria and The Admiral bring a kid?), they were just curious and friendly and a bit overzealous about things like bread and butter and digital cameras. This evening was a sort of competition, and I don’t mean to find out whose children are the most well-behaved, but just the opposite, a more twisted contest like who’s got the ugliest dog or the fattest girlfriend. Stacey insists Satchel & Jiro are truly simian and that my spawn are directly descended from the von Trapps. Dining With Monkeys is a lot more entertaining if the kids are a bit on the wild side, it’s true, and none of them disappointed this time. Jiro was the evening’s photographer, not necessarily because he’s good at it, but because he turns into the Hulk when he’s not allowed to play with the camera. And do you remember how annoying it is as a kid when your classmate across the lunch table starts copying you?

“I love Jungle Juice.”
“I love Jungle Juice.”
“Are you copying me?”
“Are you copying me?”
“You’re an idiot.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop it.”

And so on.

C and JP started this little game up just after we were seated, but this time it was mutual. C would do something and then JP would ape him and it was all in my peripheral vision, all of this herky-jerky movement. It was the most irritating thing that happened all day for some reason. At one point C was eating bread off his plate without his hands and, naturally, JP followed. S spent a lot of time under the table when she wasn’t walking from one end of it to the other like some sort of midget food sentry.

The food was good. I ate the veal scallopini with a side of ravioli and spinach and, for some reason, I was the only one drinking beer. Curious. I thought the veal was very tender and tasty and I was really surprised by how good the gravy was. I have a habit, which is probably irritating in its own right, of comparing all Italian food to my own family’s, and this was very good. I let C taste some ravioli and he thought it toothsome as well, though he did say that ours is better. That’s my boy. Speaking of C, he went with the cheese pizza, as did JP, if you can imagine that. S ignored a side of ravioli – there was just too much going on under the table and at the other end of it, apparently. GK slept the evening away, lulled by the shadowy, paneled interior, and the sultry sounds of Dean Martin wafting throughout this old-world family restaurant.

Family restaurant is just how Pete & Sam’s should be described. It’s family-owned and there were obviously a lot of families gathered this evening. What I really liked about it is that as we were sitting there with our friends and their kids, and our kids, it reminded me of dinner at my great-grandparents’ house when I was young. The Zanones could put on a dinner like nobody else. It wasn’t just the food, though, which was exemplary, but the atmosphere of generations coming together for one common purpose – to eat. I realized something else at this dinner, as well, and that is that my hesitancy to take The Quartet out to eat is not so much about what they do that might disrupt the restaurant and piss off nearby patrons, but what they do that irritates me. So what I learned about myself is that I need to understand that kids will be kids and I can’t expect them to stop their games and impulsive movements just because we’re in a different location. As long as no one is throwing cutlery or actually using the potted plant as a toilet, then it’s cool. I should be cool.

Eating with these people, with our family by proxy, was more than just fun and entertaining, it was a night of realization for me. The final one came at the end of the dinner, just as we were passing around checks, collecting Hot Wheels cars and discussing whether or not there was time for a trip to Peabody Park, when across the table what did I see but two little eyes peering over the edge of the table from Guest Blogger Andria’s lap. Apparently they had their very own kid the whole time.

See more Pete & Sam's Monkey Convergence reviews by Andria, Kristy, and Stacey.

Pete & Sam's

Pete & Sam's Restaurant
3886 Park Avenue
458-0694

A month or so ago, RJA had the brilliant idea of having most of the Dining with Monkey bloggers (and their children) all go out to eat together—-a Monkey Convergence if you will--and then each write about it. Andria and I, also gluttons for punishment, immediately jumped on board. The big question was “Where should we go?” Should we pick a place that caters to kids or one that is really small and fancy (think Cafe 1912)? Should we pick a place we like or one that we hate (you know, to scare waitresses into sterility)? After a LOT of back and forth, we decided on Pete and Sam’s.

I felt like Pete & Sam's was a bit too easy since large crowds are not at all intimidating to them, but Kristy (RJA’s wife) was adamant that we pick a place that the kids would actually want to eat at. Fair enough. When my dad was alive, Pete and Sam's was one of our frequent family stops and I have a lot of good memories involving the restaurant. (Kristy said the last time they went, C, then a year old, left with a concussion after falling out his high chair, but oddly, she still wanted to go too.)

Once we decided on a place, we needed a time. This turned out to be more challenging than picking a restaurant. It seemed as though our great idea would stay just that—an idea. Then on a Friday afternoon, Andria sent out an email saying, “What about tonight?” Funny enough, none of us had any plans so we decided to go ahead and do it. (Then, of course, we had one more round of "Where should we go?")

***

The monkeys (Satchel, 4, and Jiro, 2), Warren, and I were the first to arrive (6:30 sharp), so we picked the seats in the middle of the huge table that was already set up and waiting for us. There were several baskets of bread and crackers already on the table which was both good and bad. The monkeys quickly started unwrapping, cutting, and buttering everything in sight. “Don’t fill up on bread,” I said into the wind.

Ten or fifteen minutes later everyone else arrived. “I can’t believe you people are late!” I said as I cracked my captain blogger's whip. As Andria and RJA’s families scrambled for seats it soon became clear that no one wanted to sit next to Jiro. (Poor baby has a bad rap.) Andria’s husband, Jeff, finally ended up in the hot seat and tried to pretend he was okay with it. While his daughter sat quietly in Andria’s lap, he got to watch as Jiro licked the butter off of his crackers and handed them back to me.

Next I turned my attention to RJA’s family. Everyone was looking very crisp and clean—just the way you would imagine from RJA’s reviews. JP was even wearing a white shirt, which I thought was most impressive. Soon the perfect little Alleys were all in their seats with napkins in their shirts (“They watch ‘The Godfather,’” RJA said) ready to join in the bread and butter bonanza.

I informed everyone that they better decide what they were eating quick, because this whole show rested on us getting our orders in as soon as possible. Jiro must have sensed the urgency in my voice because he immediately lost all interest in the butter and made his first attempt to get out of his highchair. Jeff, now taken with Jiro’s undeniable charm, started trying to interest Jiro in stacking the small butter containers. “No!” he screamed as he knocked them over and commenced with his escape. Andria pulled a hot wheel out of thin air and presented it to Jiro. He glanced at it for a moment before flinging it across the table and into the wall.

This maneuver got S’s attention. (S is clearly the weak link in the perfect Alley chain.) She was out of her seat and by Jiro’s side within seconds. I was determined to keep Jiro in his chair, so I did what I had to do. I gave him the digital camera to play with. S was not deterred. She immediately crawled under the table and was joined by Satchel and JP moments later. It was nothing short of a wild rumpus. Since I had fond memories of playing under many a restaurant tables as a child, I did nothing. I simply hoped the table was heavy enough to absorb the shocks from the monkeys’ heads as they banged around down there.

Andria’s daughter was still sitting quietly in her lap and Andria had on her best, “Nah nanny boo boo, I have the best child” expression. That was fine by me. I was just happy that the Alley children were romping about. Even GK woke up for a minute or two to squawk. “Do you just think RJA is a big liar?” I asked outloud. RJA may or may not have heard me. Even though he was sitting right next to me, it was clear that he had transported himself to a place far, far away.

All of my observations were cut short when Satchel announced, “I need to go to the bathroom.” I informed Warren that he was in charge of Jiro, and set off toward the ladies’ room. When I noticed Satchel sitting down, I said, “Oh no, do you have to poop?”

“Yes!” he said happily.

Soon Kristy, GK, and S joined us in the bathroom. S and Satchel acted as though they were at the best party in the world, rather than in a fairly nasty bathroom. Kristy and I took a few minutes to visit with each other since we weren’t getting much adult time at the table. Soon she and S left, and I was alone with Satchel who was taking the world’s longest dump. I left mid dump to let Warren know we were still alive and noticed that, of course, our food was being served. Back in the bathroom I begged Satchel to hurry up, but frankly, there wasn’t much he could do.

Finally we made it back and surprisingly my lasagna was still nice and hot. (It must have been scorching when it arrived.) Jiro was happily eating his mini pizza and Satchel dug right into his. “Is that a burger?” I asked Warren accusingly when I saw what he was eating.”

“No,” he said defensively, “It’s a steak sandwich."

Both monkeys decided to help Warren eat his French fries and that’s when it dawned on me that the waitress had forgotten Satchel’s spinach. That’s right, spinach. She brought some over pretty soon after and much to my delight, Satchel dug right in. I tried to point it out to everyone at the table so that they would be clear on the fact that I have the best eater of them all, but they were nonplussed.

Once they had a few bites of food in them, the children retreated back under the table. Warren and RJA soon found themselves in a modern day parenting pissing match to see who could most creatively convince their wildest child to behave. RJA threatened to put S in the car by herself while we all ate. When that didn’t work, he threatened to put her in someone else’s car. Warren told Satchel he better look out before “Mr. Sam” came over. When “Mr. Sam” stopped sounding threatening, Warren warned of “Mr. Pete.”

After quietly eating her dinner as well as a bowl of black olives, M finally dismounted from Andria’s lap and started exploring the restaurant. Jiro, who could be contained no longer, let out his hundreth request for "wollipop" and took off after M. I sent Warren after him with all of my change, while I sat in my chair groaning, “Where’s the check?”

RJA looked at me and asked, "Do you think they purposely put us next to the table of young, beautiful, childless people just to rub it in?"

Before I could answer, the waitress appeared and we were all on our way out the door. All in all I was very pleased with the food, the service, and the fact that despite the wild rumpus at our table, no one seemed to notice or care. I actually can't wait to do it again. The Monkey Convergences can be our version of a book club or something.

See more Pete & Sam's Monkey Convergence reviews by Andria, Kristy, and RJA.