We were in a hurry, so when the waiter came to the table with the menus we didn`t bother to look.
”I`ll have a hamburger,” I said.
”The same,” my lunch companion said.
The waiter, a young man in designer tennis shoes, said, ”Uh, do you mean the Quarterbacker?”
”The what?” I asked.
He opened the menu and pointed at an item. Sure enough, it said: ”The Quarterbacker.”
”No,” I said, ”I want a hamburger.”
”Uh, the Quarterbacker is a hamburger.”
”Then why don`t you call it a hamburger.”
”It`s, uh, part of the theme,” he said.
Ah, I should have known. The theme. Restaurants today must have a theme. Especially yuppie restaurants.
Since this place happened to be part of a health club, the theme of the menu was sports and fitness.
Glancing over the menu, I saw that you could order Skin Tights, which are stuffed potato skins. Or Slam-Dunks, which is what they call their ”fresh crunchy veggies and dip.”
Guess what the French Open is? Of course–the onion soup.
And there was the Runner`s D`Lite, which was a pasta salad with those ever-present ”tasty veggies.”
It went on and on. The Fowl Play (you guessed sliced turkey, right?) and U.S. Open (an open-faced sandwich) and the Toss & Serve (a salad.)
Pencil poised, the waiter asked, ”Then you both want the Quarterbacker?”
”I think I`ll have a cheeseburger,” my companion said.
”You mean the Cheddarbacker?” the waiter said.
”The what?”
”The Cheddarbacker. It`s the Quarterbacker with cheddar.”
”That makes sense,” I said. ”And I`d like a Velveetabacker.”
The waiter blinked. ”I don`t think we have that,” he said.
”You don`t have Velveeta? Is this a commie joint?”
”No sir. All we have is the Cheddarbacker. And I think we have provolone.”
”What is that–the Probacker?”
”We don`t have a name for that yet.”
”But you don`t have American cheese?” I asked. ”How can you serve a cheeseburger without American cheese.”
My companion cut in: ”Because it is not a cheeseburger. It is a Quarterbacker that becomes a Cheddarbacker.”
”I forgot. All right. I`ll have a Cheddarbacker, too. With fries.”
”It comes with potato wedges.”
”Are those like fries?”
”Yes. Except they`re cut more like wedges. Would you like something from the bar?”
My companion is of the yuppie generation but, unlike his peers, he doesn`t realize that his body is a sacred temple. So he ordered a Jack Daniel`s on the rocks, with a twist. I had the same.
The waiter was about to leave when my eye caught something on the menu. For many of the food items, the calories were listed.
For example, the Wimbledon Finalist, described as ”a mouth-watering array of freshly cut fruit on a cushion of crisp salad greens!” contained 240 calories.
”Just a moment, waiter,” I said. ”Could you ask the bartender how many calories there are in a Jack Daniel`s on the rocks with a twist.”
”I don`t think he knows that, sir.”
”Well, he should find out. It would be valuable knowledge for someone on a fitness program. For all I know, it might be better for my pecs and lats if I skip the potato wedges and have two Jack Daniel`s.”
As we were finishing the meal, a young man in a suit came by. I assumed he was the Food & Beverage Director, which is what such places call the holder of a master`s degree in business administration who sells sandwiches and beer. ”Is everything all right?” he asked.
”Yep. Best darned Cheddarbacker I`ve had in a long time.”
He seemed pleased, so I said: ”You might consider adding a SwissAndBaconBacker to your menu. It might catch on.”
”I`ll think about it,” he said, which shows he has an open mind and will go far in life.
On his final visit, the waiter asked if we would like desert.
”What do you have?”
”You might like the Yodolo.”
Yodolo? It sounded like the cry of a downhill skier.
But the menu told us that Yodolo is an ”all natural fruit d`lite. 100 percent fruit, no cholesterol, no sugar or artificial sweeteners, no preservatives, low in sodium and calories.”
”Sounds revolting,” I said. ”You got Twinkies?”
”No, but we have carrot cake.”
”Carrot cake? You ought to change the name.”
”To what?”
”BugsBunnyBacker.”
