Hola, Señor Manzana-Abeja: Pennsylvania Road Rules #2

(Editor's note: The road to Williamsport, continued.)

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Amazingly, there are precious few restaurants or even fast food emporiums driving north along U.S. 15 between Blogsburg and Williamsport. South is another matter--there were dozens of nominally nourishing food purveyors along the way--but reversing direction to cross the jersey-walled highway to reach them, especially when, per usual, you've left just enough time to reach your destination and have just enough car insurance to replace your aging Subaru at its current value, becomes a death-defying, poorly inspected carnival ride act of faith. And ever since Jot the Dot went off the air, I'm just not that religious.

So my plans for stopping someplace quaint full of interesting and delicious Pennsylvania home-cookin'--bring on the chicken and waffles, but let's rethink the scrapple, please--were, well, scrapped while I waffled. Thus, given the meeting I was attending in Williamsport, I didn't get to eat lunch until afterwards, when I was on my way home in the late afternoon.

By then, most of the interesting lunch places I had seen on the way north that morning were closed. So in a fit of low-blood-sugared-induced desperation, I swung into the parking lot of an Applebee's outside of Lewisburg.

I'm not one of those food snobs who takes issue with most chain restaurants. Fast food, I'm less supportive of, because it tends to be bland and fat- and salt-laden, but a good dine-in chain restaurant will receive my galloping gorger's seal of approval (a stylized drawing of me, cheeks full, motioning someone off scene to bring more food and be quick about it, dammit), especially if I'm hungry and not in too much of a hurry. If given a choice, I'll take the non-chain option nine times from ten, but a place like Applebee's suits me just fine, especially when my other options appear most likely to promote ptomaine or, at the very least, repeated rest area visits.

Tasty, friendly, comforting, and, OK, sometimes fattening--what's not to like about Applebee's? Despite my constant dietary concerns, places like Applebee's and Ruby Tuesday's and, heck, even McDonald's have been making some efforts at portion, fat, calorie control. Applebee's offers a Weight Watcher's menu (sorry, Snappymack), Ruby Tuesday's lists calorie, carb, and fat counts, and McDonald's even offers fruit. Thus, I am here to praise the grilled chicken caesar salad, not to bury it.

What puzzles me a wee bit about Applebee's, at least the current culinary conception available in these parts, is the overwhelming predominance of Southwestern and Latin American-influenced cuisine on the menu. I quote:

• Fiesta Lime Chicken
• Fajitas con Sizzle
• Rio Rancho Sirloin
• Santa Fe Chicken Salad
• Nachos Nuevos
• Applebee's Cuban Ciabatta
• Tango Chicken Sandwich

Too late to worry about undocumented immigration from south of the border--clearly, the chefs at Applebee's are all mexicanos and all gay, too. (Fajitas con sizzle? Ay, dios mío.) Sort of a GOP worst case scenario, it would seem.

I wonder if in other parts of the country then, you get a different cuisine based on some sort of color wheel opposite of the predominant cuisine and culture in your area. I can imagine the late-night brainstorming session of the menu planning board now. "Let's see, Pennsylvania in the winter, hmmm, potatoes! kraut! pork ! . . . very brown! . . .and German! The opposite on the food wheel is . . . chile red and chartreuse! Looks like it's Mexican food for the Keystone State!"

Meanwhile, during the brainstorming session for the Texas menu: "Red, lots of red! jalapeños everywhere! and corn! . . . and beef! OK, that matches with . . . pastels . . . and heavy cream . . . milk-fed veal . . . and fussy, stuffed foods built into complex architectural structures. French cuisine for the Lone Star State!"

The meal was simple and satisfying--a filling (and probably heart-disease-beckoning) Southwestern Steak Chili and a I'll-just-have-a-small-grilled-chicken-and-green salad with a Diet Coke. Some yin and yang there--fill me up, but give me plenty of roughage to make it go away quickly. Lil ol' bipolar me.

I was a good boy and passed on dessert. Not that I wasn't tempted, especially since the company was paying, but there was actually nothing that appealed to me. Dare I speak this blasphemy? All the desserts seemed too rich.

There were the usual brownies, apple pies, and Holocausts by Chocolate, along with something called a "maple butter blondie," which makes me want to have a root canal just thinking about it. But the "that is so wrong" award, Arizona-themed cuisine division, goes to Applebee's own Apple Chimicheesecake.

Apparently, this is one of their own creations. One would hope nothing other than an evil capitalist enterprise with a yummy product line would be responsible for this:

APPLE CHIMICHEESECAKE

Crisp, tart apples and almond toffee bits blended with creamy, rich cheesecake wrapped in a tortilla and deep fried. Served warm with vanilla ice cream, caramel sauce and a sprinkling of cinnamon sugar. Ole!

Why, my goodness, it's me at my most desperate-to-PR. All it's missing is a cheery, "It's the chimi-cheesiest!" with some powder sugar-covered, gap-toothed, soulless 5-year-old with overbearing parents shilling it in posters from coast to bleeding coast.

I'm sure it's delish, no no, I couldn't, and all that, but I did not try it, I did not even attempt it. I feel plenty slipshod most days with my dietary restrictions, but even I've got to draw the line somewhere.

Apple chimicheescake, ferchrissakes. Who comes up with this shizzle? Is their chef one of those morbidly obese types who hasn't left the house since the late '80s because he/she is too big to get out the door? My heart goes out to you, dear, but spending your time dreaming up artery cloggers, garter snappers, and colon bunchers like the apple chimi ain't helping any of us.

Still the most outrageous part of the dessert--other than the fact they deep-fat-fry the sucker--is that they say "¡Olé!" at the end of the ad copy. ¡Olé! indeed.

As stupid as that is, it has inspired me. I've pretty much decided that for the next week, I'm going to end every conversation or email or supervisory reprimand with an alternately supportive/perky/stern "¡Olé!" At least until my employer directs me otherwise.

So ¡Olé! already. I'm outta here. Next stop, Las Vegas, baby, to visit with my friends Jean Naté and the Gladman. If all goes well, in a week's time, I'll bring you news and views from a differently sourced, freshly inspired Road Rules/Mysteries of Blog Vegas series.

Wish me well as I take in and try to make sense out of the greed, commerce, sin, and degradation.

As a casual, caustic observer, I can assure you.

¡Olé!