For the past twelve years--the whole time we have been in Seattle, my kids' favorite restaurant has been The RAM. It is a bar and grill and it is about three minutes from our house. It is kind of like Dalt's where I grew up, but with a more university based crowd. The RAM was the only place Claire Adele would want to eat for years. Jack and I would recommend other places, and she would balk. The Boy would get sick of the RAM, too, but he would usually agree to go there. I think he secretly liked it, but balked just to disagree with his sister. Claire Adele would get mad if she went out of town and we would eat at the RAM without her. When she was at camp this summer, the Boy and I ate at the RAM for dinner. We saw four of Claire Adele's friends there. I mistook them at first for a group of college girls.
Since we have been to France, the kids don't want to eat at the RAM anymore. They both decided they don't like french fries or burgers anymore. "The food there is too fried and greasy," Claire Adele said. Mexican and Italian are still in, but American fare is out. This is a problem because now we don't know where to go out to dinner because we so often ate at the RAM.
This is like breaking up with the RAM, or graduating from a restaurant. This restaurant isn't a kids' place like Chucky Cheese--it is a bona fide bar and grill, and yet we have outgrown it. I am sorry RAM. I never thought I'd say this, but you will be missed.
This blog is about the little and big thoughts that pop into my head. I once read that when Flannery O'Connor walked into a bookstore, she would want to edit her published works with a red pen. In the digital world, we have the luxury of tweaking things up after we've hit the publish button. I can be a perfectionist/procrastinator, where waiting for the ideal means little gets done. Here I will share what is not--and likely will never be--perfect.
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