In the early days of the COVID-19 shutdown, a common conversation topic was “what’s the first place you’ll go eat when this is over?”
Of course we’ve come to understand since then that “over” isn’t a switch we’ll flip. Buzzing, crowded dining rooms are still a thing of the past. But take something away for long enough and it’s pretty remarkable how grateful we’ll be for even a partial return.
Even still, I wasn’t sure my husband and I would go out to eat once patio and limited indoor dining reopened in Kentucky on May 22. We’re what the governor might call healthy but nervous. Would it be safe? Is it too soon?
In the end, the Donder fries at Monnik Beer won out. Well, that, and arming myself with information.
As a full-time freelance writer and longtime Courier Journal columnist, I also write about food and health topics for national outlets and have recently interviewed some leading experts in infectious disease and food safety. I felt confident that dining out could be accomplished safely with the right measures.
So with visions of Donder fries dancing in my head, we set out for Monnik, 1036 E. Burnett Ave., on Friday night, calling first to see what the situation looked like; only a couple people waiting for outdoor tables, they said.
Actually, first, we went through the new going-out protocols, which begin with “where did I put my (bleeping) mask?” Adding to that and hand sanitizer, we rolled up some silverware in our own cloth napkins to take along. While restaurants aren’t required to use plastic, many are at the governor’s recommendation, and I couldn’t stand the thought of stabbing those crisp fries with a piece of plastic.
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“This feels so weird,” we marveled as we pointed our car for Schnitzelburg. Getting out of the car and pulling on our masks it felt as if we were actors reprising roles we once played, long ago. Muscle memory and lines buried deep in our brains took over as I stepped past the barrage of COVID-19 related safety signs into the nearly empty dining room.
“Do you have a table for two outside?” I asked the masked host who stood next to a bourbon barrel topped with a stockpile of disposable masks and hand sanitizer (a Louisville 2020 scene if ever there was one!).
She led us to a bar table on the sidewalk, one of a handful spaced several feet apart, and a friendly waiter followed right along to ask if we preferred paper menus or online.
And we’re off, I thought.
Online was the easy choice so we scrolled through, the first time it’s been acceptable for both of us to stare at our phones at dinner, I thought.
I wanted everything. All of it. We’re pretty good home cooks, but two and a half months of nearly every single meal cooked by us, and all but a couple of picnics consumed at home, and I felt like the proverbial kid in a candy store at this wonderland of food we didn’t have to cook or wash dishes after.
The waiter wore a mask and gloves, and signs noted masks were required inside.
“Would you like us to wear our masks?” I asked. He thanked us, but no, he said, it was fine, and he stood a safe distance as we ordered.
It’s not as if I’ve wanted for drinks during quarantine with a home bar we’ve kept well-stocked, but a proper cocktail made by a real bartender with ingredients we don’t keep on hand? Sign me up!
The white sangria starring Copper & Kings immature brandy, served with a paper straw, lit a giant grin. Obviously it was the fries for my dinner, along with the kalette and Brussels sprouts salad, while my Next Slide Kenneth shirt-wearing husband opted for a burger.
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Debating over what to get and how to share felt like a simulacrum of old times. And while it was our first meal out, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it might be one of our last again, as I watched people at the restaurant across the street abandon even the pretense of social distancing.
But still. I wanted to enjoy this. And we did. I felt so grateful to be there, to be healthy, to be sitting at a restaurant we’ve enjoyed so many times, a place whose progress building and opening I followed and covered for years. The two servers helping us seemed likewise happy and grateful, excited to see us. The whole thing had a celebratory air.
But there was still the undercurrent always with us of "be careful."
I had to use the restroom, so I donned my mask and walked through the quiet dining room. Only a few tables remained, with diners at only a couple. I was relieved to recall the restroom is a private one, but then began the internal monologue that accompanies us these days: Don’t touch anything. Don’t touch your face. Grab a paper towel to flush and turn off the tap. Use it to pull the door handle, then stretch to try to toss it in the waste bin.
And then follow the signs and rope to exit a different path than I entered. It was all a sobering reminder that we’re not out of this, not anywhere near, and we only get to keep this intoxicating sip of freedom if we play by the rules.
Oh, but those Donder fries! They were a little different than before (a new chef had started since the last time we ate here) and I mentioned that to the waiter. The beef was cubed, not shredded and seared as before, and the sauce was under the fries, not smothering them. Yep, he agreed. That worked better for carry-out, but they’d probably return to the original soon. That gets my vote.
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With the world turned upside down, the desire to hold on to the things that comfort us — exactly as they were before — is a real thing.
For the first time I can remember, I cleaned my plate of the decadent dish. Plus the side of crisp, luxuriously sauced veggies. And ordered bread pudding which I immediately realized was an over-order.
I just didn’t want it to end.
I don’t want this to end.
So readers, please: let’s do this right. Play by the rules so we can keep going out, so our restaurants can keep going, so they’re still here when that beautiful day comes that we can step into a noisy, packed dining room, together.
Tell Dana! Send your restaurant “Dish” to Dana McMahan at thecjdish@gmail.com and follow @danamac on Twitter.
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