They've been spending most their lives livin' in an Amish Paradise

This past weekend, I traveled to the heart of Amish country for the wedding of Rich's friend from college. After a lovely wedding, reception, and after-hours party in the hotel lobby on Saturday night, a group of Rich's friends all decided to meet for brunch on Sunday morning. After a bit of a search (apparently Sunday brunch is unheard of out in farm country), we discovered what appeared to be a quaint, family-style restaurant with a sign that listed "Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner." It seemed like the perfect destination for a delicious breakfast.

As we approached the front door, we were appalled by a sign declaring that NO breakfast was served on Sundays. Bewildered, we debated whether to find another restaurant, but decided in the end that we could, if we must, skip straight to lunch. It was just before 11:00 a.m. when our party of 10 (plus baby Jack) was seated.

We opened our menus, and after a moment, began to look around at each other in confusion. The only items on the menu were full dinners: turkey, roast beef, fish filets... all served with mashed potatoes and gravy, plus your vegetable of choice. None of us one could imagine eating this kind of meal so early in the day, but we felt stuck.

As we tentatively made our selections, I quickly grabbed the kids' menu that had been placed in front of Jack and asked the waitress if I could order a grilled cheese. The waitress hesitated, eyed Jack (who was happily mashing a banana with his fists), and wrote down my request.

Sensing an opportunity, Jack's grandmother pointed to the kids' menu and whispered "Can I see that?" The waitress stopped her in her tracks. "I only let her ::points accusingly in my direction:: order from the kids' menu because the baby isn't ordering any food." Disheartened, Jack's grandmother ordered a bowl of beef barley soup.

Our orders taken, the waitress brought over a basket of rolls that can best be described as mini hot dog buns. Since there didn't appear to be enough to go around, Radu flagged the waitress back to the table.

Radu: "Excuse me, can we have another basket of rolls?"

Waitress (visibly confused): "How... many... do you want?"

Radu: "Uhhh, about 4 or 5?"

Waitress: "Baskets?!"

Radu: "Noooo... rolls."

The waitress spun off, still looking way too confused for such a simple request. She returned a few minutes later and reported that each additional roll would cost $0.40. Astonished, Radu jokingly told her to put it on his tab. She had no idea what to think, but did bring the additional rolls a few minutes later.

Needless to say, the meal was almost unbearable for everyone except me with my grilled cheese, Jack with his banana, and Jessica, who ordered a piece of pie. Rich (who would eat breakfast for every meal of the day if he could) seemed to be gagging with each bite of mashed potatoes and gravy, and others at the table were seen to be picking at their string beans, glazed carrotts and potato croquettes (actually, those looked kinda good, probably because they most closely resembled home fries).

Since we were the only people in the restaurant without white hair and a checking account at the New Holland Savings and Loan, I guess I can cut the place a little slack for not knowing what to do with a bunch of "city" people. But no breakfast on Sundays? When breakfast is offered EVERY other day of the week, why deny it on Sundays? Is the restaurant really losing money by keeping some extra pancake batter on hand for one more day? There have got to be enough tourists, wedding attendees and people under 80 years of age to take advantage of a home-cooked country breakfast on Sunday. I know they've got to offer "dinner" at 10a.m. for the old people who have been up since 4a.m., but what about the rest of us?

Okay, so they really have something against breakfast on Sundays. Fine. What's the deal with only allowing one "baby waiver" per table? If someone else had had a baby at the table, would two people have gotten to order a kids' meal? Why not just charge for an adult meal and allow people to at least eat what they want?

The extra-bread-charge was the last straw for me. In a restaurant with no more than two elderly people at the same table, a party of 10 might be a rare occurance, but the waitstaff should also know that a big party means a big check, and thus, big tip! Why nickel and dime us for something as insignificant as bread? It's almost like we were unwelcome houseguests where the hostess was just being polite by offering food, when all she really wanted us to do was leave.

Because I feel kind of bad bashing this small-town restaurant, I'm going to leave out the name (which contained an Apostrophe Catastrophe, I might add), but I'm giving a solid check minus.