Here is my review.
We had just made a trip to Panama City and on a whim decided to eat at the venerable old Black Angus. You know the one, a reputed vortex that transports diners back to the 1970s when giant concrete animals and garish signs beckoned to the hungry masses. I admit, I was curious but didn't have terribly high expectations.
We ran through the pouring rain into the entrance and braved the phalanx of slightly inebriated locals crowded under the awning puffing on post-prandial cigarettes. One of the lovely ladies commented on how fond they were of Rapunzel's rain boots. It was all downhill after that.
We were greeted by a dark haired Slim Shady looking guy and led to our table. It was a cozy two top next to the aquarium and the window. Under most circumstances this would have been ideal, but there were two issues that reared themselves right off the bat. Complication number one was that the aquarium was about half full of water and smelled like a neglected pet shop. Some sort of poor fish was in there living out a life I would rate as slightly better than that of a Hermit Crab unlucky enough to be for sale in a Panama City beach knick-knack store. Complication number two was the roof leak;I don't mean a 'drip-drip-drip' sort of leak. I mean a brisk hemmorhage of water one might expect to witness a little Dutch boy scrambling to stick his finger into. The wall and ceiling were stained, the paper was peeling from the wall and the carpet appeared to be the breeding ground for many species of mold.
Just as we were beginning to absorb the atmosphere, there appeared our waitress. Rapunzy ordered a diet coke. Minor complication with that selection as they only served Pepsi product, so she opted for a water (I guess the aquarium and leaky roof whetted her whistle for some water). I had a diet pepsi...I hate pepsi, but wanted this experience to be as smooth as possible for all parties at that point. And off went out waitress and then quickly back with our drinks. I think the shock wore off of Rapunz and she whispered "Lets go!". I explained that we couldn't as I had a drink to pay for at that point. "Pay cash!" I then watched her deflate as I spilled the beans that I had a grand sum of $1 in my pocket and she had perhaps some pocket change in her purse, and I didn't have the gall to charge a diet pepsi on my debit card. I sure as heck didn't want to dine and dash and have Slim Shady and a gaggle of Panama City youth in hot pursuit. We were stuck.
I tried to make conversation to lift Rapunzy's spirit. I relayed some fairly offensive medical story I had recently been exposed to. She shooshed me as there was some poor soul dining by himself right next to us and she felt certain I would disgust him. I thought to myself that if that fellow had endured a meal in the olfactory Hell we were in he could probable tolerate any other assault.
Of course it was then time to consider what we were going to dine on at that point. While studying the menu I noticed that they charge 25 cents for soft drink refills. I hope this was an assessment devoted to fix the roof. "I can't do it" Rapunzy then informed me. "Can't do what?" I asked knowing exactly what she meant. We were on a collision course with one of those moments that can wreck relationships. "I can't eat in here. I am going to be sick", she informed me as I spotted our waitress approaching. "We have to stay", I said. Then her brilliant brain kicked in. "What are you going to have tonight?," the waitress asked. "I am going to have the Greek salad, to go please, I'm sorry but I have the flu and was feeling better, but I need to go home," Rapunz answered. Freaking brilliant! "Oh, you poor thing!," the concerned waitress retorted. I ordered a steak of some sort, to go. Off went the waitress to the kitchen. "Give me the car keys," Rapunz demanded, and off she went in a fashion similar to somebody fleeing a crime scene.
So there I was, all alone to ponder my fate of having to wait for our food in this cave. At first I was pissed because I hate getting restaurant takeout. The food always seems to suffer and the menu prices reflect services that take out diners do not receive. Thats right, I hate that feeling of getting hosed by the man. But I digress. It is really uncomfortable to sit alone in a dining room. True, there were only a few other people in there, but I felt certain that they thought Rapunz had just walked out on me after we had a fight. Now that isn't good for the male ego. Again I digress. I looked around at the dining room now that my companion was no longer there to distract me. It was full of artifacts from a bygone era, namely the Nixon administration. Plastic fruit, hats, bottles, jars, fake antique lamps...all in all a potpourri of items you might find for sale at the worst flea market on Earth. I accept that perhaps this added to the bizarre charm somewhat, but I studied a bowl of fake fruit near my back and was shocked. There was a layer of dust and grime clinging to the fruit that I feel certain had been there since Jimmy Carter was President. Icky stuff.
Mercifully our server appeared after about 30 minutes with a huge bag o' food. Thank goodness, I wasn't going to suffer an acute attack of Aspergillosis. I paid the bill and remembered another reason I hate take out food:The tip dilemma. Normally I might plunk a few bucks down when I arrive to get take out, but certainly not 15% or more. But there I was...that little waitress had actually served me. Damn! I added 20% to the tab hoping that she could use it to pay for her antifungals when the pneumonia set in.
Then it was a quick farewell to Slim Shady and out the door into the rain. Then we were home. Do you really think the food was any good? To be fair, takeout fare always sucks in my opinion, especially after a 20 minute ride home. I guess we will have to go back to Black Angus to see if the food is any good...when it isn't raining
We had just made a trip to Panama City and on a whim decided to eat at the venerable old Black Angus. You know the one, a reputed vortex that transports diners back to the 1970s when giant concrete animals and garish signs beckoned to the hungry masses. I admit, I was curious but didn't have terribly high expectations.
We ran through the pouring rain into the entrance and braved the phalanx of slightly inebriated locals crowded under the awning puffing on post-prandial cigarettes. One of the lovely ladies commented on how fond they were of Rapunzel's rain boots. It was all downhill after that.
We were greeted by a dark haired Slim Shady looking guy and led to our table. It was a cozy two top next to the aquarium and the window. Under most circumstances this would have been ideal, but there were two issues that reared themselves right off the bat. Complication number one was that the aquarium was about half full of water and smelled like a neglected pet shop. Some sort of poor fish was in there living out a life I would rate as slightly better than that of a Hermit Crab unlucky enough to be for sale in a Panama City beach knick-knack store. Complication number two was the roof leak;I don't mean a 'drip-drip-drip' sort of leak. I mean a brisk hemmorhage of water one might expect to witness a little Dutch boy scrambling to stick his finger into. The wall and ceiling were stained, the paper was peeling from the wall and the carpet appeared to be the breeding ground for many species of mold.
Just as we were beginning to absorb the atmosphere, there appeared our waitress. Rapunzy ordered a diet coke. Minor complication with that selection as they only served Pepsi product, so she opted for a water (I guess the aquarium and leaky roof whetted her whistle for some water). I had a diet pepsi...I hate pepsi, but wanted this experience to be as smooth as possible for all parties at that point. And off went out waitress and then quickly back with our drinks. I think the shock wore off of Rapunz and she whispered "Lets go!". I explained that we couldn't as I had a drink to pay for at that point. "Pay cash!" I then watched her deflate as I spilled the beans that I had a grand sum of $1 in my pocket and she had perhaps some pocket change in her purse, and I didn't have the gall to charge a diet pepsi on my debit card. I sure as heck didn't want to dine and dash and have Slim Shady and a gaggle of Panama City youth in hot pursuit. We were stuck.
I tried to make conversation to lift Rapunzy's spirit. I relayed some fairly offensive medical story I had recently been exposed to. She shooshed me as there was some poor soul dining by himself right next to us and she felt certain I would disgust him. I thought to myself that if that fellow had endured a meal in the olfactory Hell we were in he could probable tolerate any other assault.
Of course it was then time to consider what we were going to dine on at that point. While studying the menu I noticed that they charge 25 cents for soft drink refills. I hope this was an assessment devoted to fix the roof. "I can't do it" Rapunzy then informed me. "Can't do what?" I asked knowing exactly what she meant. We were on a collision course with one of those moments that can wreck relationships. "I can't eat in here. I am going to be sick", she informed me as I spotted our waitress approaching. "We have to stay", I said. Then her brilliant brain kicked in. "What are you going to have tonight?," the waitress asked. "I am going to have the Greek salad, to go please, I'm sorry but I have the flu and was feeling better, but I need to go home," Rapunz answered. Freaking brilliant! "Oh, you poor thing!," the concerned waitress retorted. I ordered a steak of some sort, to go. Off went the waitress to the kitchen. "Give me the car keys," Rapunz demanded, and off she went in a fashion similar to somebody fleeing a crime scene.
So there I was, all alone to ponder my fate of having to wait for our food in this cave. At first I was pissed because I hate getting restaurant takeout. The food always seems to suffer and the menu prices reflect services that take out diners do not receive. Thats right, I hate that feeling of getting hosed by the man. But I digress. It is really uncomfortable to sit alone in a dining room. True, there were only a few other people in there, but I felt certain that they thought Rapunz had just walked out on me after we had a fight. Now that isn't good for the male ego. Again I digress. I looked around at the dining room now that my companion was no longer there to distract me. It was full of artifacts from a bygone era, namely the Nixon administration. Plastic fruit, hats, bottles, jars, fake antique lamps...all in all a potpourri of items you might find for sale at the worst flea market on Earth. I accept that perhaps this added to the bizarre charm somewhat, but I studied a bowl of fake fruit near my back and was shocked. There was a layer of dust and grime clinging to the fruit that I feel certain had been there since Jimmy Carter was President. Icky stuff.
Mercifully our server appeared after about 30 minutes with a huge bag o' food. Thank goodness, I wasn't going to suffer an acute attack of Aspergillosis. I paid the bill and remembered another reason I hate take out food:The tip dilemma. Normally I might plunk a few bucks down when I arrive to get take out, but certainly not 15% or more. But there I was...that little waitress had actually served me. Damn! I added 20% to the tab hoping that she could use it to pay for her antifungals when the pneumonia set in.
Then it was a quick farewell to Slim Shady and out the door into the rain. Then we were home. Do you really think the food was any good? To be fair, takeout fare always sucks in my opinion, especially after a 20 minute ride home. I guess we will have to go back to Black Angus to see if the food is any good...when it isn't raining
