You read that right. We’d never been to the Olive Garden in our whole lives, and thus requested to be taken there by a tall and handsome friend. It did not disappoint.
We went to the one in Chelsea, which we assumed would be barren because no self-respecting gay would ever set foot in those doors (the windows are even slatted so you can’t see in – as though inexpensive family Italian food were pornographic!). In fact, around the bar there were tons of gays. A few even seemed to be on dates, like us, but without irony!
It was like going to a suburb-themed amusement park. We got a wiggly beeper to tell us when our table was ready, and when we were seated we ordered a bottomless garden salad with iceberg lettuce. The waiter asked us if we “liked wine,” and then offered a sample of a Cavit Pinot Noir (Cavit, you may recall, also makes that Pinot Grigio that you often pick up at that cheap liquor store on your corner, on the way to that party you don’t want to go to, because it only costs $7.99 a bottle). A highlight of the appetizer course was when a woman across from us leaned over in her chair, paused, and then farted through her pink jeans loud enough for us to hear fifteen feet away. It appeared that she, also, was on a date.
To be honest, the food was extremely tasty and we ended up completely stuffed. The wine we ended up getting was decent, and the waitstaff was friendly and unpretentious. Had we not been seated across from a charming boy, it all may have been different. But as it happened, our date at there was one of the best we’ve had in a long time.
And you thought there was nothing queer about the Olive Garden.