Would you ever go back to a restaurant if this happened to you:
Your reservation says 8:30, a confirmation in writing even, but when you show up in the dining room at 8:30 the waitress yells at you to get out, and says she’ll announce when you can be seated. There will never be an announcement, but you go in when you see different people seated there from before. Despite the fact that half of the tables remain empty, you are seated at a booth with 3 strangers, and told you have to order right away or else you will get no food at all until breakfast tomorrow morning.
Dining on Amtrak is certainly a unique experience, and you know that it will have its limitations compared to other restaurants, but in ways you might never have imagined. But hey, what other restaurant could you walk into, and afterwards walk out into a different city?
People who take Amtrak are different from the usual crowd you see at the airport, and the ones who show up in the dining car are a special subset of that. They are:
(1) The Elderly – they have time on their hands and are angry at not being able to eat earlier than when Amtrak tells them. They keep looking at their watch and complain to anyone who will listen.
(2) The Train Adventurers – these people got on the train on Texas and California. They will only get off the train at the East Coast because the train will not go any farther. If they could buy a train ticket to Europe, they would have been there by now.
(3) The Freakshow Attendees – never took a train before, and are increasingly horrified at their one Amtrak experience. They are the ones worried about the train being late, constantly ask where they are, when they are going to arrive with the delayed schedule, and run up big roaming bills on their cell phones calling everyone they are supposed to meet.
(4) The Amtrak Venerables – a loose connection of people going on relatively short trips, and those who will not fly. These people have been through everything that can go wrong with Amtrak and know to expect the worst short of derailment into a gorge. They learn to smile when things don’t go wrong, and never ask any Amtrak employee anything, because they won’t believe the answer anyway. Their heads are not looking out the window, but down at their books, magazines, and work.
The Capital Limited is supposed to leave at 5:35 every evening, but it’s rarely on time. Much of the journey East from Chicago to South Bend the train must yield right of way to freight trains. So it’s not unusual for you to sit in the train, stopped somewhere in Indiana, the South Side of Chicago, or even worse, inside Union Station. Once inside the train, the seats are comfortable, much more so than an airline, with plenty of legroom and a wide first-class sized airline seat. The conductor comes through to collect tickets, and to take dinner reservations. He hands you a confirmation slip with whatever time he gives you. Usually by the time the conductor comes through the coach car, the earlier dinner reservations are sold out and it’s 8:30 or nothing, which is just fine with me.
Traveling by train is very convenient for me; I can walk to the station, and I always have plenty of reading to catch up on. If I get to Toledo a few hours late, it really doesn’t matter to me if I can get work done. And besides, taking the train is just a neat way to travel. You see the countryside, the old towns, and history all around you as you slowly but surely chug along to your destination. There’s a lot more attachment to the land than just seeing airports and highways. And it’s a lot more comfortable than dealing with airports, airlines, and airplane seats. Amtrak is sort of a social safety net for travel; no matter how much the airlines want to charge you for a flight, Amtrak is always there to take you to where you’re going for a reasonable price. Following ATA’s demise, American charges upwards of $500 for weekend trip to Toledo, while Amtrak is available for about $80. It’s also a trip to the past; you see how people used to travel, and all of the small towns built up around railroad stops along the way. A lot of old, abandoned factories, long shut down. Grain silos out of use, and smokestacks that puff no more. Much of Northern Indiana and Ohio are modern-day wastelands, with the remnants of industrial and farming eras gone by.
At 7:30 The Elderly start to line up outside the dining car for their 8:30 reservations. No one told them that it was 8:30 Central time; they complain to people around them that since we’ve past South Bend, we’re now on Eastern time and the dining car should honor their reservation.
At 8:30 I walk into the dining car, only to be yelled at and thrown out. I walk in around 9, and am seated and told I have to order right away. She yells at me for asking her to serve me dinner at 10pm. I gently remind her that I have a reservation and it’s only 9 since we’re still in Indiana where there is no daylight savings time. She gets more upset, saying how she can’t be responsible to know where we are at any given time. I know the menu and routine, and choose between the NY strip steak, roasted lamb with garlic, and the special of the evening, braised beef tips in bordelaise sauce. Calculating in my mind the dish that is least likely to come out awful, I go for the NY strip. My dining companions do not make the same calculation, and go for the other two.
First course is always a salad of coarsely chopped iceberg lettuce and julienne carrots, with your choice of standard dressings out of a bottle. Rolls are served with the salad, which are sometimes freshly baked, and other times cold and rubbery. The entrée is served with your choice of baked or mashed potatoes, and a vegetable, usually green beans or “roast” corn (it’s out of a can). The steak is hit or miss; last time it was great, this time it wasn’t – a thin, grey layer of meat, with bordelaise sauce poured over the top to try and hide the fact that it’s as far from a NY strip cut that you can get and still call it meat. Unfortunately the lamb and braised beef were indistinguishable to my poor tablemates who ordered it. But the real gem on the menu is a $10 demi-bottle of BV Coastal cab. So while the train is slowly chugging along through the industrial wasteland, and you chew each bite of the meat you were so hoping would be steak, your cares drift away with a few glasses of wine and conversation with strangers at your dinner table. The combination of bad service, inexplicable delays, being packed in with strangers, and wine makes for an interesting way to meet your fellow travelers. The train rocks from side to side, and everyone at the table and the other tables sways in unison with the train. The trip may be slow, the service may be awful, and the view outside may be bleak, but there’s still wine in my glass, and I’m in no hurry to finish it.
there's food, and then there's food