Pasta Pomodoro

Guests who come to town always ask me, "where is the hot new place to have dinner?". Hell if I know. I don't even read the food section anymore. I can't afford a $14 Cosmo or whatever the cool kids are sipping these days. I don't know the secret password that will get me down the slide into the latest whisky pouring Juke Joint. I don't know where the latest napa protoge is creating masterpieces from duck liver, grits, or locally raised grassfed hormone/antibiotic free ground beef patties that we used to call burgers. No, in this land of foodieism where I used to be in the know, I now know not. Instead, I create masterpieces from Kraft and The Turkey Store.
Unless... I get a night off. Woo-hoo! No need for a babysitter, daddy's taking us out on the town!
The restaurant of choice now is anyplace where we can get a table for 2 and two halves at 6 o'clock. Preferably with a highchair, kid's menu (with puzzles and scribble space) a set of four color crayons, and a staff that won't cringe or stun or shoot spears from their eyes when we enter. A plastic cup with lid and straw and a bathroom with a drop down changing table are a welcome bonus.
yes, our big night out to dinner these days is the Italian themed chain restaurant Pasta Pomodoro. These chain style restaurants gave me my first waiting gig, but since moving on in '92, I never looked back. I became a restaurant snob after a (very short) stint at the Balboa Cafe and moved up from there. I can no longer stomach frozen vegetables from Sysco. I pooh-pooed the predictable menus and pre-mixed margaritas of chains. But you know what? They welcome us, the family. And occasionally you can find pretty good food too. And cheap, which counts for a lot when you need to inhale sustenance in between whines & cries from the peanut gallery. But the best part (besides fantastic meatballs and garlicky, homemade sauce) is that I don't have to pull tiny daggers from my face before dinner arrives.