Well, OK we're not brought to you by Outback. Not yet, anyway. We'd like to be brought to you by Outback. And since our sponsorship deal with PETA fell through, we figure there's no conflict of interest.
Call it a guilty pleasure, but we love Outback. Sure, it's not Le Cordon Bleu or Wendy's, but there's just something truly satisfying about mass-market steak seasoned with just the right excess of salt. They do a decent baked potato, too.
Today, while waiting for our food, we overheard a man place a seemingly strange order: two house salads with vinaigrette dressing. That's it. Now, Outback is known for many things, but a noteworthy house salad is not among them. Who goes to a steakhouse for salad? But then it became clear. "Oh," the customer cleared his throat and asked in the most non-chalant tone imaginable, "and could you give me three breads?"
There it is! The thing that sets Outback apart from all other fast food emporia, casual dining eateries, out-of-the-way boites, and three-star restaurants: the bread!
Bread, you ask? Yes, bread! Basic, wheaty black bread. Except there's nothing "basic" about it. Warm and moist and chewy and semi-sweet--it's addictive. We suspect it's laced with heroin. And notwithstanding the considerable pleasure to be found in the rest of the meal, it's the bread that keeps us coming back, the bread we could eat for three meals a day, the bread we would happily sell our own mother's kidneys for--
Perhaps we've said too much.
So, in closing, Outback: Go for the bread. Stay for the steak. Tomorrow, we will be discussing the parsley at Applebee's.
For the record POA (partner of anonymous) also loves the bread. That's because neither of you grew up in the bronx (small b) in the 40s (or Queens in the 50s) where Pumpernickle was ubiquitous. My parents and their friends loved it. As for me, rye bread lover to the world, I say it's vomitous and to hell with it!
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