I recently decided to plan a nice evening out with my family when I would be going home for Fall Break in early October. We would go to my favorite restaurant: Carrabba’s Italian Grill. Even though the restaurant is in my small hometown of Wichita, Kansas I was excited to go home and experience one of my favorite places to eat in Wichita. I imagined how fun our evening would be together, and, I will just say, that it did not turn out quite as I planned.
My sister did not go home for Fall Break, so it was just me, my mother, and my father. Before we actually decided to go to Carrabba’s my mother was the one who suggested it. She insisted that, because I was home for only a short period of time, we should go all the way across town to my favorite restaurant. At first it was a little off-putting that she insisted on eating at Carrabba’s, like it was our only option, but I quickly warmed to the idea. As I drove us there, all I could think about was what I would order, how amazing it would taste, and how satisfied I would feel afterwards. We could barely contain ourselves as we entered the restaurant.
Upon entering, we quickly noticed the almost-vacant restaurant even though it was a Saturday evening at 7:00. I realized that my evening was going to be interesting. Even though Wichita, and even Kansas in general, is not known for its abundance of dining experiences, we expected it to be at least a little busy. I swear we could hear crickets in the background as we were seated.
Our waiter, Kevin, a tall, cheerful, red-headed fellow let us choose our own table after my mother complained when the hostess seated us at a table “too close to the restroom.” She proceeded to pick out the largest booth in the entire restaurant, a table big enough for eight, and of course, there were only three of us.
Kevin quickly offered us calamari and my forgetful father asked him, “What’s that?” Of course, we get calamari every time we go out and my father never remembers. We accepted Kevin’s offer for the “special” sauce to go with the calamari. My father and I both ordered caesar salad and my mother insisted, once again, to hear every one of the available soups and salads and settled on a house salad.
We noticed, as we settled in, that the restaurant was really nice, but dark. The decorations were well-placed and subtle but lacking. The overall feeling was “ok” but, considering how empty the place was I could only wonder how the place would feel filled up with an abundance of loud, happy families and couples. I could barely imagine it.
When Kevin came back to take our entrée orders, my mother chose something on the menu but she didn’t know how to pronounce it so she asked Kevin, “What’s this?” He then pronounced the italian words and before he could go on she had decided, “I’ll take that.” I ordered the lobster ravioli and it was like I could hear my father’s wallet groaning in protest. Both of my parents ended up ordering pasta. I did not find this very surprising. My mom loves the texture of the noodles, and my dad feels like pasta is the only thing that contains enough to fill him up.
First, came the calamari. The calamari, itself, was excellent, but unfortunately, Kevin’s special sauce turned out to be a very bitter artichoke and spinach dip that tasted more like lemony sauerkraut. Kevin had mentioned that he could not eat calamari without this dip and it turns out that I cannot eat calamari with it. However, my parents loved it.
Along with the appetizer came the bread, and it was alright, but Kevin poured us so little olive oil to go with it that it was all gone after one person dipped their bread. The small loaf of bread was pre-cut, which bothered me because I pride myself on my bread-cutting skills. The bread is barely worth mentioning on its own, but I did try. Soon after, my mother received her salad and failed to notice that she received a caesar salad (and not her house salad) until I pointed it out. Kevin could not stop apologizing afterwards and immediately had a new salad made before my mother could even say that the caesar was good enough. My salad seemed like a very plain, sorry excuse for a caesar salad.
Next, came the main entrées. After seeing
the size of the bowl that my mother received she immediately asked for a side plate so that she could eat only a little and that she could let my father and me finish the rest of it. We didn’t complain. Immediately my dad began to inhale his pasta, and I never really got a good look at whether or not his dish looked appetizing. My lobster ravioli was satisfying. The sauce was nice and creamy but the lobster did not taste very fresh. Was I satisfied? Yes. Impressed? Not so much. My mother and father seemed to greatly enjoy their entrées. My mom could not stop saying how delicious the shrimp on her pasta was, and how she wished the chef would have given her more. My father on the other hand was visibly satisfied by the creamy sauce of his pasta decorating his thick mustache. After tasting my mother’s shrimp I wished I had gotten some. Lobster can be hit or miss and lobster ravioli might not have been the best selection for fresh lobster.After we finished, we decided to check out the desserts. I noticed a little something on the menu called “Chocolate Dream” and ordered one for all of us to share without even glancing at the other options. Carrabba’s Chocolate Dream, also called Sogno di Cioccolata, turned out be absolute heaven. We were floating on clouds as we bit into a warm chocolate brownie brushed with Kahlua and covered with chocolate mousse, whipped cream and warm chocolate sauce. The rich and delicious chocolate melted in our mouths and we devoured it very quickly. The dessert was definitely the best part of our meal, it was certainly a dream unlike any other.
After my recent dining experience at Carrabba’s Italian Grill, I noticed that it, like many of Wichita’s restaurants, failed to live up to my expectations. The fact that the atmosphere as we entered was deserted and uninviting gave me an uneasy feeling right off the bat. The waiters failed to soften the blow of dreariness and simply seemed as though they were eagerly awaiting the end of their shift. Kevin, our waiter, although cheerful, managed to not correctly remember my mother’s order, and also recommend a not-so-tasty appetizer which turned the mood even more sour. The food, in its entirety, was tasty but lacking freshness. In fact, our entrées seemed almost pre-made. Overall, our dining experience at Carrabba’s Italian Grill was not terrible, but will fail to lure me back any time soon. I strongly encourage other patrons to consider other options before choosing to dine at Carrabba’s.
Rating: ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
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