Hostesses
in black, wait staff in white shirts with black ties, white cloth napkins.
Dim lighting, dark lacquered wood finishes, a visible wine cellar with
rows of bottles. The large, heavy cardstock 1-page menu had the entire
back devoted to the wine selection. Oh, ok, it's leaning towards Sunset
Grill-quality Fine dining.
Then
I examine the menu. Typical selections, until I spot this: Mr. Jack's
Chicken Fingers Dinner. The description starts something like this:
Made
with Mr. Jack's famous South Carolina low-country recipe...
OK,
folks - we are talking CHICKEN FINGERS here. Strips of boneless fried
chicken, put on all menus to order for finicky children or as comfort
food for the adults. They are not regionally famous - I don't go on
vacation and think to myself, "Hmmm, I think I'll order a local
delicacy... where's the chicken fingers on the menu?" Secondly,
they are not state specialties, either. South Carolina is not famous
for it's chicken fingers, let alone the LOWER HALF of the state.
I
ordered the chicken salad open-face sandwich on foccacia bread. When
the plate was finally placed in front of me, its contents rose almost
to my chin - a good half-pound of chunky chicken salad, on an 8 x 6
inch slab of foccacia, with another slab of foccacia off to the side
with tomatoes, lettuce and a dab of dressing to place atop the heap
and squash it into submission. Plus the huge portion of thin-cut french
fries, rising majestically from the plate like a golden haystack.
This
was fern-bar quantity, not the discreetly cautious portions of a fine
dining establishment, where everyone working there is slim and café-chic
stylish, and the food reflects similar restraint. I could not finish
half of it. It was worthy of TGI Fridays... and perhaps, was a last
respectful gesture on the part of the JA kitchen staff, since the local
TGIF had been closed down recently. Their competitor had died because
it had been unable to adapt to the changing diets of a more sophisticated
population, and yet J Alexander's acknowledged their kinship, and in
sorrowful respect, heaped my plate high.
