Pizza, kids' games and a giant rat

By Staff
August 25, 2004
By Robert St. John
One of those kid-oriented pizza restaurants opened in my hometown. I won't mention the name, but it rhymes with "Chucky Cheese."
I made it six weeks before my children asked me to take them there. On our arrival, a giant rat greeted us at the door. This might be the only restaurant in town where rats are welcome, employed even.
I explained to my son that it wasn't a rat at all, just a teenager dressed up as a rat. Armed with this knowledge he ran over and pulled the teenager's tail.
The restaurant was like a casino for kids, a gaming-club Mecca for the lower-school set. Upon entering, my 7-year-old girl and 3-year-old boy got the same glazed-over look in the eyes that I've seen on diehard gamblers when they enter a swanky casino.
Bells were ringing, lights were flashing and coins were dropping in machines. The kids stood there, wide-eyed and eager to spend. "How much money did you bring, Dad?"
The similarities between gambling houses and kid-oriented pizza restaurants are uncanny. A casino has games, this place had games; a casino has a cocktail bar, this place had a salad bar; a casino has a floor show, and this place had a floor show.
Granted, in the pizza-themed floor show everyone was fully dressed and there were no white tigers or magicians sawing scantily clad ladies in half. But the singing rat did remind me of Wayne Newton and I quickly offered a prayer of thanks to the tawdry show-music gods that it wasn't Celine Dion.
On any given day, a singing rat is infinitely better than a singing Celine Dion.
At the kid-oriented pizza restaurant, like in a casino, money is not used. A casino uses chips; the kid-oriented pizza restaurant uses tokens. In the midst of the wide-eyed spending frenzy one hears comments like, "It's not real money, Dad. It's just tokens, can we please have some more. PLEEEEEASE!"
The main difference between the kid-oriented pizza restaurant and a casino is that in a casino a majority of the people don't look like they are having fun probably because a majority of the people are losing their money (Las Vegas wasn't built from the pockets of winners).
At the kid-oriented pizza restaurant, an overwhelming majority of the clientele are happy. Ecstatic, even. Chalk one up to the pizza folks.
Slot machines pay out coins that can be redeemed for actual currency. The machines at the kid-oriented pizza restaurant pay in small tickets that can be redeemed for stuffed animals and trinkets.
My daughter collected a whopping 30 tickets on our visit. The lava lamp she wanted was available for the low, low sum of 1,500 tickets. "Can we come back tomorrow and get the lamp, Dad?"
Try once a week for the next year, sweetie.
Charlie Trotter's in Chicago is probably the most peaceful, relaxing restaurant I have ever visited. The kid-oriented pizza restaurant is Trotter's polar opposite. So, if one is looking for a nice, quiet and peaceful dining experience, this is not the place for you.
A few weeks ago I read about a restaurant in Victor, N.Y., that doesn't allow anyone under 25 to even walk through the doors.
According to the article, "Jim Andres, owner of the new barbecue eatery and bar at 75 Coville St., set the unusual age restriction to avoid the undesirable behaviors of two subsets of customers: screaming or crying children and irresponsible younger drinkers. We simply don't want to deal with it.'"
If Andres walked into the kid-oriented pizza restaurant his head would explode.
The article continued, "Advertisements he has placed in regional newspapers not only state the age restriction, but also play up the restaurant's casual atmosphere (concrete floors, canned beer) and bullish attitude (tagline: You're not special here' )."
With concrete floors and a corporate philosophy that makes sure everyone knows that they're not "special," it doesn't sound like he wants many adults eating there, either.
Sitting in a noisy booth near the skee-ball machine, I was popping three Advil, wondering what past sin had brought me to this fate, and contemplating an escape route from the kid-oriented pizza place.
Then the giant rat walked by our table and I saw the elation on my son's face unadulterated joy, sheer ecstasy and excitement. I washed down the ibuprofen and began planning our next visit.
Robert St. John is an author, chef, restaurateur and world-class eater. He is the owner/executive chef of the Purple Parrot Caf, Crescent City Grill and Mahogany Bar in Hattiesburg and Meridian www.nsrg.com. He can be reached at robert@nsrg.com.