We went to the World's Largest Applebees last night. Any self-respecting native New Yorker who is reading this (who am I kidding?) is groaning now..."With all the great, unique, gourmet, etc., etc., restaurants in the city, why would you choose to eat at a hokey, tourist-driven, unimaginative chain restaurant?" they would ask, with no little amount of distaste.
I'll tell you why. Because yesterday was one of those days when adventure did not appeal.
I wanted a place where I knew there were kids' menus with food that my kids will actually eat. A place where crayons with the menus were a given. A place where the music was loud enough to drown out any crying, giggling, or over-the-top exclamations, and I could be assured that no one would give our family The Look. I wanted a place where quick turnaround was the name of the game and we wouldn't get stuck trying to entertain our kids for an hour while we waited for the food. I wanted a place that was roomy and comfortable and smelled like french fries. Applebees was that place.
I know that we were probably the only people in the whole restaurant (other than the starving artist wait staff) who actually live here, but it was a brief reprieve for our family, a comfort in knowing what to expect. And as a bonus, we could look out the window and see the lights of Broadway. Not a bad combo.