The first important thing about this restaurant chain, which the Sig Fig so accurately called a Crap On The Walls Restaurant: if the laws of a particular state forbid the selling of a certain menu item, I think the menus in the restaurants in that state should really not include that item. It’s just disappointing for a diner. Damn you, blue laws!
That said, I have to say I enjoyed my visit to Ruby Tuesday, though not necessarily more than any other restaurant of this genre. (My visit might have been more memorable had the shopping mall housing it still contained a wolf lover’s store, but, alas, that was no longer.)
Our five dollar margaritas were tasty and amply sized, although we might have liked a bit more salt. We both also felt a little hyper an hour or so later, and wondered if perhaps the mix might have been excessively sugary. (Alternatively, one hypothesis was that those salt crystals were actually crack. Probably not true.) The Long Island Ice Tea at the table was reported to taste oddly sweet and sort of like apple juice, which naturally segued into conversation about how the family of a four year old boy somewhere sued when he was served the alcoholic beverage instead of apple juice.
The salad bar wins big points for me. Not necessarily because the quality was high–it wasn’t, really–but because who has a salad bar anymore? I was instantly transported to the pizza parlors of my youth, and sadly lamented the lack of canned peaches. I was a little turned off by the fact that nearly all of the prepared salads contained ham, and a lot of mayo. But I just steered clear of them and built a delightful salad.
I chose to hybridize the chicken and avocado quesadillas (having perused the menu earlier in the day, I was obsessed by the number of times “fresh avocado” showed up), which was a perfectly fine choice but ultimately didn’t yield as much avo as I’d hoped. Also, one of my chunks still had the skin attached, which I didn’t discover until I’d already chewed some.
Reports on the barbecue chicken were good, although the potatoes were a little too buttery for my tastes. (This, however, was a selling point for others at the table.) I was delighted to see Tillamook cheese on that one, yet another prominent feature of my childhood. The minis in the Mini Trio were promptly devoured, but our resident tiny burger eater reported that the original was really the best of the bunch.
All in all, I’d say we were all pleased, but not thrilled, and we didn’t feel like staying for a second round of drinks because we felt it might be a little early for that kind of thing. But anytime you feel like buying cheap used DVDs, you should totally eat here so that you can go to f.y.e. afterward.