Our teenagers didn't want to come to the park tonight.  Jenny because she already went to a game this month, and John because he was buried in Guitar Hero.  Threw a $20 on the kitchen table and told them to hit the Godfather's buffet.

Came home to found out that Jenny had gone $12 for sushi and that John was still buried in video, not having had dinner.  Sighhhhh...

.................

Cindy is the kind of wife who will drop me at the corner, wheel off to go get parking, and let me walk up to get the tickets.  It was indulgence night, so I was going to surprise my girl. 

All-Star Club is the M's latest offer to sell bona fide Suite tickets on a per-game, per-seat basis.  Supposed to be a big-time buffet, big-time chef, plasma screens, ritzy, with reserved seats outside.  I figured, if the seats are inside $100 apiece, I'll dazzle her.

I asked the ticket guy behind the glass, "Do you sell All-Star Club tickets at this window?"

This 50-ish, PGA-tour looking guy shifted smoothly into maitre-d mode.  "If I have any, sir."  Tippety-tap-tap....

"Wow.  I have some on the front row."  He says it with more style and ease than the headwaiter at the Davenport in Spokane.  How much?  "One seventy-five, sir," he says easily. 

Gulp.  Apiece? 

"Yes, sir.  It includes the buffet, beverages..."

I'll just take two in 339 tonight, thanks. 

"Of course.  Row 12, two on the aisle, $44.00."  

Thanks!

................

We took a right turn and headed up to Hit It Here Cafe, which from my wife's point of view is a nice treat.  Told you she was great.  On the ramps up, I asked her to guess the ASC seats.  "Sixty?"  "One seventy-five."  She shook her head.  "Maybe after the teenagers are out of the house."  LOL...

.................

Super-friendly hostess.  Have any seats on the rail?  "Certainly," she says warmly.  Her smile reaches her eyes.  She half-turns to invite us to follow her.  Wow.

Oh, you mind the rail, honey?  (Dinner on the rail, chompin' a cheeseburger, is about as smooth as the guy knocking over the shelves in the Keystone Light commercial.)  "No, great, wherever you want."

Like I said, indulgence night:   I order Salmon Caesar salad for her...

... whereupon the evening folds over a waist-high rail like Philippe Aumont planting his front foot.  The waitress, annoyed that I would presume to know what my wife of 29 years would want, whips her head over to the lady before I can continue.  "What would YOU like to drink?", she snaps at my wife, pointedly ignoring me. 

Cindy looks away from the waitress and back at me, confused for a moment as to whether I'm going to give the chivalry another try, in the face of the waitress's interpretation of our relationship dynamic.  :- )  After a few awkward seconds, Cindy gives in, shrugs, and turns back to the, um, server to finish her own order.  "Diet Pepsi, please."  Ruth's Chris, this ain't.  But at least I get to pretend I'm at a Yankee game ...

"And for you?," the server asks me with a faintly-warning glance.  Philly Cheesesteak and diet cola.  We manage to grab the waitress before she escapes.  "And some nachos to start, please?"  She scribbles it down silently and beats feet.

Afterward, we manage to catch her attention long enough for dessert, too.  My assessments and Cindy's:

..................

MOST-COMPARABLE NACHOS:  Kingdome, by my estimation.  Cardboardy chips, milky thin nacho sauce, though it does have beans, sour cream and chicken.  Cindy thinks that's too harsh.  Applebee's is the most-comp, says she.   She's probably right.

MOST-COMPARABLE SALMON CAESAR SALAD:  Ivar's, though Cindy said the salmon was cooked more precisely than Ivar's sometimes gets it.  No quibbles.  This is a dependable order at HIH.

MOST-COMPARABLE PHILLY CHEESESTEAK:  Jack-in-the-Box, Cindy agrees, though the meat did have a hint of cilantro.   The bottom bun was as soggy as if you'd drowned a French Dip and then thrown it back onto the plate for twenty minutes, but the seasoning was "plus."  Cindy peeled open the bun and ate her half of the sandwich with a fork.

MOST-COMPARABLE DIET COLA:  K-Mart, Cindy agrees.  Lightweight waxy containers with watery ice and no fizz.  Cindy asks for a refill and I supress a smile.  "There are no refills," the waitress barks.  Oh.  Okay.  Some water then?  yields a curt nod.  The water is an upgrade.

MOST-COMPARABLE CHOCOLATE CAKE:  Olive Garden, quoth Dr. D.  No, better than that, about like what you'd get on a cruise, insists Mrs. D.   (Huh.  Is cruise food better than Olive Garden's?  There's an interesting debate.  With somebody other than your wife.) 

The modestly-sized piece of cake was interesting, boasting four or five dense layers, and it came with a whipped-cream-and-strawberries sauce, plateside.  Nice.  $9 per serving nice?  Well, it's luxury fare.  Nobody has to buy it.  Whatever the market will bear.

MOST-COMPARABLE WAITRESS:  McDonald's at midnight, I propose.  Mrs. D is kinder.  "About like at Shari's if she's having a tough day."

Salad/sandwich, appetizer, desserts, diet cola:  $77.28, so $90 with tip.  For two.  We can do Benihana for that.  Ruth's Chris, probably not.

....................

I'd have felt sheepish about paying $45 for it.  But at K-Mart you don't get a Russell Branyan home run off the front window.

Russell's 407-footer hung majestically *over* our heads, sailed in five seats to our right and juuuuuuuust dropped down before it shattered the pane of glass* next to us.

Cheap at twice the price,

Dr D