So after the theatre tonight, Jim decides we should go grab a bite to eat. I like the diner across the street. The people are friendly, there are “safe” foods for me, and it’s close to home so no one has to drive home. Jim is on a kick to eat at different locations as often as possible. So why we ended up tonight at PJ Whelihan’s – where we have eaten many times before – is beyond me.
I have nothing against PJ Whelihan’s, except that for me – from a gastric bypass standpoint – the menu is crap. There isn’t much I can comfortably eat, so everytime we go, I order the Cobb salad, which I can never get close to finishing, and because of the “wet” stuff in it – like the tomatoes – by the time I get around to eating the leftover, it’s soggy and nasty and unedible.
I didn’t want a cold Cobb salad tonight – especially not going to bed. Chicken is not always my friend – it often gets stuck – and I didn’t want to risk it tonight, when I was tired. Jim wanted us to hurry up and order, and without really having time to read the descriptions of everything I wanted to, when the waitress came back and he told me to hurry up and order, I just blurted out “Irish Nachos”.
What is an Irish Nacho you might ask. Don’t even go there. If you ask, and I tell you, you might be tempted to try them. They might sound appealing to you. They’re not. There isn’t one redeeming quality in this dish, despite the presence of potato, bacon, and sour cream.
Oh, alright – you’re gonna ask anyway. Irish Nachos are described as “homemade chips” – which it turns out are potato chips. They are supposed to be topped with cheddar cheese, bacon, green onion and sour cream. When my plate of nachos are brought out to me, I can count on one hand the number of bacon bits, less than one hand the slices of green onion, and I could probably not fill a shot glass with the amount of cheddar cheese on these things. The most prevalent topping is a large dollop of sour cream, which doesn’t spread very well no matter how hard we try.
When the waitress comes back to see how everything is, I ask about the non-existent bacon, and she brings me back a small container of ice cold bacon to dump on top of the chips. Blech. So much for the nice, warm, crumbled bacon.
But, you figure, this is essentially a plate of potato chips – how bad can it be? Bland doesn’t begin to describe how bland these chips were. There is not a hint of seasoning or spice anywhere to be found. Not one grain of salt has made it’s way onto the surface of any of these chips. Having just had dinner out at Harry Caray’s in Chicago – where the chips were so good you wanted to lick the basket they were in – I know it’s possible for a bar to make a good potato chip. Apparently not if your bar is PJ Whelihan’s.
The potential here was great – all of my favorite food groups combined in one fabulous dish. Potatoes, cheese, bacon – it would have to be good, right? Unfortunately, no. Blah is the word of the day when it comes to describing the dish.