just like home again

6/6/99

Mom and Dad were up today to loan me their van (while my car’s in the shop) and take me to dinner. We drove all over Lansing looking for a place to eat. There are no parent-type restaurants near my house, only bars, and my dad wanted to find an Italian restaurant, but not the Olive Garden, someplace just like the Olive Garden. But not the Olive Garden. I told my parents about the steakhouse here and the sports bar there, and added that people in Lansing don’t like foreign food, that spicy Eye-talian stuff. Unless it’s pizza. I suggested a new little place in East Lansing, but, well....

So we dropped my car off at the dealership on MLK Blvd. and Dad thinks we should find a place right around there to eat. I told him there’s nothing in that area, so he suggested Cedar St. and gestured off to the left.

Betsy: “Dad, Cedar’s that way.” Gestures to the right.

Dad: “Nah, it’s way out this way, out by the mall out here.”

Betsy: “It’s right by my house. Parallel to Pennsylvania.”

Dad: “Then what’s that one out there?”

Betsy: “Uhh...Waverly?”

Dad: “No. It’s Cedar Street. There’s a little congested area and a mall and lots of restaurants.”

Mom: “Dave, she lives here, she probably knows what she’s talking about.”

Betsy: “We crossed Cedar just to get here.”

Dad: “Are there any cigars back there?”

Betsy: “Are you thinking of the mall on Saginaw? There’s no Olive Garden out there.”

Dad: “I don’t want to go to the Olive Garden.”

Betsy and Mom exchange looks.

Betsy: “I think there’s a Fazoli’s out there, if you want Italian food. He he.”

Dad: “What? What’s Fazoli’s?”

Betsy: “It’s like McDonald’s, only Italian.”

Mom: “I like Fazoli’s.”

So we tooled around western Lansing for a while. Established that there are no Italian places, not counting Fazoli’s, which was eliminated when we recalled eating spaghetti from plastic plates. Nag nag nag; Betsy, find a place; Betsy, where are we; Betsy, where the HELL is Cedar Street? We ended up pointed right back into the capitol area, right by my house.

Dad: “So what’s out here?”

Betsy: “Um, the Blue Coyote. It’s a brew pub with good food. And Clara’s—supposed to be nice, but I’ve never been there.”

Pause.

Betsy: “There’s an Italian place in East Lansing....”

Dad: “What’s that called?”

Betsy, “Sofia. It’s new, I’ve never been there.”

Dad: “Do they have parking?”

Betsy: “Huh. I don’t know.”

We pulled up at a light near the State Capitol building.

Dad: “This is nice. What’s around here?”

Betsy: “The Blue Coyote and Clara’s.”

Dad: “What’s the Blue Coyote?”

Deep, cleansing breaths. In. Out. I was actually in a decent enough mood. Their car has air conditioning, and I’d been busy in my smothering house all morning. I informed them that I’d be happy to drive around all afternoon.

As we came up to Lugnut Stadium, I made my dad turn right into the parking lot for the Nuthouse. Betsy: “Here we are!”

Dad: “What’s this?”

Betsy: “Nuthouse. You’ll like it. And look—we’re on Cedar Street.”