Go ahead. Clutch your pearls. There is no “fine dining” in central Maine — perhaps in some hidden corner of Portland?
Hold on: Waterville and Hallowell sport a soupcon of good eateries, but “fine?” The truth is in the details.
She and this writer “dine” at home these days with “Kramer,” our elderly cockatiel, who has outlived three sheep dogs, and two miniature schnauzers.
Until She has her knees done, I cook and clean.
In our rooms, we don’t have to mask up and sit up straight; we simply have to wash our hands before we sit down to non-fine dining.
She, who has eaten in more “fine dining,” spots in her life than I have, comes from a family of fine diners, old French folks. Lamb with mint on Sunday.
I come from an Irish family where the ketchup is always on the table next to the potatoes.
I’m sure every restaurant, café, diner, coffee shop and burger joint in Maine calls its cuisine “fine dining.” Why not?
What are they gonna call it? “Pretty good grub here” or “It’s the special, Ya like it?” or “You want fries with that?”
“Fine dining.” What does that even mean? I took some time to look it up and came to a spot online called “Toast,” an online restaurant service.
You can Google it before you go out to dinner tonight.
Here are the rules they posit about “fine dining.”
These apply in typically more sophisticated, unique and expensive rooms.
“Sophisticated and expensive” simply means no baseball caps worn backwards, nor Red Sox T-shirts. It depends on what Maine you live in.
The rules for “fine dining”: Tablecloths are clean and evenly placed.
Tablecloths? Most restaurants eschew them, laundry is expensive in the COVID era, and don’t use the word “eschew” when complaining.
But do you still “dine” out these days? Lucky you. We eat at home.
“Fine dining?” I just wanted to make trouble today. Howmidoin?
The title is complicated, and I’m sure most eateries around us here vary.
The new shiny Lockwood Hotel’s restaurant, “Front and Main” on Main Street, probably consider their tables a “fine dining” spot.
According to the description offered by Toast, it doesn’t rate. It’s about tablecloths. Front and Maine doesn’t use them. And who washes all those big windows?
I don’t think we’ve done any “fine dining” in years.
You see? It all depends on who you date.
In New York in the early ’50s, I only dated ladies who were as poor as I was. (This was before I moved up from dance classmates and met She, who looked rich.)
I took them to places where a neon OPEN sign hung in the windows, as at “Sloppy Joes” on Second Avenue or the Automat on Broadway.
“Chock Full of Nuts” on various corners was for local office workers.
With She, who dressed nicely, I wore cologne and applied “product” on my unruly hair. I put on my wedding and funeral suit and tie, and walked carefully into all the tie and jacket spots.
She was impressed. But wise to my moves. We decided it was true love and “settled” for Chinese takeout with a nice Chablis at her place. Lucky strike.
I would add that the wearing of baseball caps and decorative political T-shirts will make the head waiter bar you from any of the higher spots, so if you’re happy with MAGA red and Busch Lite, go for it.
Bon appétit.
J.P. Devine is a Waterville writer.
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