When Kish and I lived in Washington, D.C. back in the ’80s, one of the hot restaurants in town was an eatery called Bootsie, Winky & Miss Maud. Seriously.
The name probably tells you everything you need to know about the place. It was the era of the Yuppie. Bootsie, Winky & Miss Maud was targeted to appeal to just about anyone, so long as they had two X chromosomes and were over the age of 30. It was the kind of place where you would take your Mom and your maiden aunt during their visit to the Nation’s Capital. Over the tastefully decorated tables, small talk was made, happy chit-chat and talking with hands was everywhere apparent, and polite laughter rang out. As I recall it, the menu included delicate salads, delicate quiches, delicate sandwiches cut into quarters, and light desserts. I think every dish — even desserts — featured asparagus.
So, what to do when your lovely wife suggests that you try a restaurant called “Bootsie, Winky & Miss Maud”? How to respond when every meat-craving fiber of your being knows to a mortal certainty that there isn’t likely to be a cowboy cut ribeye steak or a baked potato as large as a small dog on Miss Maud’s menu?
Why, I went, of course — admittedly after a small bit of manly grumbling — and enjoyed Kish’s company and, ultimately, the atmosphere and the quiche as well. I ended up being glad I had the experience, although I’m not sure we ever went back. And then, when it was my turn to pick the restaurant, I chose Bullfeather’s.