Olive Garden, my maiden visit, a rescue lunch for my dear friend J. A very tall, freckly, boyish waiter with shark’s eyes tries to talk us into an expensive bottle of wine before we’ve even looked at the menu. He puts two bottles on the table. One’s a Chianti, the other a cabernet sauvignon. I’m too weary to be rude, so I sample the cabernet. It’s rough, tannic. I’m annoyed by this boy telling me It’s the most popular when it tastes like plonk. I order a glass of merlot instead, and the tilapia with angelhair. The fish is undercooked.