A Simple Soup and Salad

As you have assuredly been anticipating with excitement, I would like to tell you about my saga yesterday of ordering a soup and salad combo.

For lunch yesterday, my parents, brother, and I headed out to Champps in Troy - a regular family lunch destination. We often head that way because they have an appropriately diverse menu, large portion sizes, and an ice cream dessert big enough to make you want to push over your grandma to eat. One piece of The Mile High Ice Cream Pie is enough for four members of my family, and that is saying a lot. Anyway, I wanted something on the healthier side because I knew I would not be eating that well during my current trip to California, so I ordered a universal menu staple of "Bowl of Soup and Side Salad" with french onion soup and a garden salad. My dad ordered "a cup" of the soup of the day (this is key for later in my story). The first primary offense of the meal was that I absolutely hate when the two items come out at different times. When this happens, I typically remember it is my fault because quite a few restaurants bring out the salad and soup sequentially, but today, THE SOUP CAME OUT BEFORE THE SALAD. On what planet does someone want a garden side salad with light italian dressing as their "entree"? I'll tell you which planet - crazy planet. Not only was it unfortunate that the food came out at different times, but the salad was the main course. I should have remembered to explicitly state "bring out at same time", but also possibly the server should have asked me what would work for me.

The next and more significant sin of the meal was when my soup came out (early), the bowl was the exact same size as my dad's cup of soup. I didn't think too much of it except that it seemed a little bit small, but I assumed I misunderstood my dad's order or something like that. Where it gets really crazy is that as I was trying to nurse this paltry quantity of liquid until everyone else's food arrived, the party at the next table started to get their orders, and they had huge bowls of soup. When the waiter came around again, I asked "is this the bowl of soup" and he said, get this, "yeah, uh, but what we call a bowl is a cup." So I said "what is that they're eating over there," and he said, "that's a crock." On what planet does anyone call a cup a bowl and a bowl a crock? I'll tell you which planet - crazy planet. OK so maybe they have a shifted naming convention, but never in my life have I ordered a "bowl of soup and salad" and not gotten the largest serving size of soup available, except on crazy planet Champps. If you're going to break from all normal practices of the world, at least let me know that a bowl is a cup and a crock is a bowl and that my bowlcup is going to come out 10 hours before my salad. I hope you're as disheveled from this event as I remain, more than 36 hours later.

The last thing that was quite weird about this meal is that the party next to us (the people with the awesome crocks) was some sort of peculiar BMW enthusiast club, or possibly a group of people with 15-20 BMWs who all decided to eat at Champps at the exact same time on Sunday, eat at the same table, and park all of their cars next to each other facing outward. "Hey guys, we're going to lunch. Bring the car!" I don't think I will ever understand roving clubs of BMW enthusiasts. Where were they going next and why were they going there? We don't have sweeping European roads twisting through the hilly countryside, and I don't think you can take road trips in the same way you can if you belong to a biker gang. As best as I could tell, it is a prime opportunity to wear pink polos, pop your collar high, sweep your male bangs to the side of your forehead, and feel superior to all the sad sack non-BMW owners around you.