I have a special place in my heart for Romano’s Macaroni Grill. Our relationship formed in Miami in July of 1996 when I was pregnant with my first child. On day of an ultrasound to see my baby and find out I was having a girl, my parents, my in-laws, and my husband all came to the appointment. We joked that the office visit was an event worthy of a party platter, so after the appointment we decided to go to nearby Macaroni Grill. What seemed like an ordinary lunch turned out to be something priceless. I don’t recall what I ate that day but I remember the tablecloth. Throughout lunch we grabbed crayons and wrote potential baby names all over the tablecloth. The six of us each wrote at different times filling up the white paper with names like Eva, Corrine, Elizabeth, Madeleine, Emma, and Sarah. I heard stories of how my name was almost Sarah and how it suddenly was changed to Shelley. Then a name was written that everyone agreed upon. Allison. Allison Rachel. We would call her Allie. My dad had recorded the winning name. We were overcome with joy. It wasn’t until we got to the parking lot that we realized we should have grabbed the tablecloth as a memento. Even with its stains of marinara and olive oil it was still a beautiful memory. We considered going back inside to ask for it but assumed it was already in the trash beneath mounds of saucy paper tablecloths. I didn’t know then how much I would regret that decision.
While I was picking out a bassinet and prepping the Winnie-the-Pooh themed room for Allison’s arrival, we were unaware of the battle my father would be facing. He started feeling ill, coughing up blood, in August, just a month after the magical day at Macaroni Grill. By early September we knew he had Angiosarcoma, cancer possibly a result of previous radiation treatment he had many years earlier. His teams of doctors ran many tests and were perplexed by the rapid progression of a cancer that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Allison Rachel was due October 16th of 1996. The anxiety of having my first child, teaching to keep a paycheck, and knowing my father was dying, was overwhelming. I found it hard to eat or sleep. My father, however, remained a pillar of strength. He masked his pain by assuring us all everything would be alright. He focused on finances and within the month of discovering the cancer, he filed for a medical retirement. I prayed for Allison to arrive early. I wanted her to know her Grand Daddy. I went into labor and had Allison on October 9th, the day my father cleared out his office and began his early retirement at age 55. I have a picture of him holding her in the hospital, but it is the only picture I have of the two of them. He went into the hospital himself the next day for intense chemo and it was too much for his kidneys. He died four days after Allison was born. And so I long for that tablecloth…anything that connects me back to him.
When Allie turned four I remember asking her where she wanted to go for a special birthday dinner. We live in the Tampa Bay area and with all of the restaurants around us, she chose Macaroni Grill. It was her favorite restaurant, too. Her order was always the same: Macaroni and Cheese with chocolate cake for dessert. Her younger brother loves it too but opts for Chicken Marsala every time. It has been our special place for family bonding, writing on the tablecloth to solve hangman puzzles and many math games.
Many things have changed over the years, yet yesterday after a walk to support arthritis research, we stopped for lunch, and at the request of my children, it was at Macaroni Grill. Three years ago I was diagnosed with Celiac Disease and Rheumatoid Arthritis. I cannot eat gluten without becoming seriously ill. Eating anything with gluten magnifies my arthritis beyond my daily pain to something unmanageable and results in intestinal damage, too. It has changed my life dramatically and I can no longer waltz into my favorite places and order what I would have ordered even 5 years ago. So naturally to say it saddened me to think that this lifelong restaurant relationship might have to end. When we sat down I asked both the hostess and server about gluten free options and both shared that they no longer had any options. They stopped serving gluten free pasta and did not have even a gluten sensitive menu option. The worst part was getting the feeling from the restaurant staff that it wasn’t important and I was given no explanation about the disregard for gluten allergies. If we had been at another restaurant in this situation, we would have left. But this was Macaroni Grill. I uncomfortably ordered only a Caesar salad without croutons. My family thoroughly enjoyed their lunch despite my limited options. Of course Allie, now 18 and home from college, got the mac and cheese in an adult-sized portion. Even with kids ages 18 and 15, we still played games on that tablecloth. When my kids request to go back again I probably will for them, but I can’t help wishing the desire to go there and the desire to have us back was mutual. I don’t feel that welcoming feeling I had for decades. It has remained the place we have gravitated back to for building memories, discussing graduations and all of the other many milestones over the years, and it will always be a connection to my dad.