SEPTEMBER 25, 1991
It was darkish inside Big Al’s Pasta Parlor, at the Westward Ho Motel. One young man was eating peanuts at a table along the side of the room. The waiter brought us a large laminated menu printed in red and green. In the dimness of the room, we could pick up the green print OK, but the red print was hard to read. The waiter, wearing a sweatshirt with a caricature of Big Al on it, came back to the table and asked, “You guys ready to order?”
“We can’t see the menu very well,” Constant Companion said.
“OK. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” the waiter said.
At length, I decided to order tortellini, described as “a blend of beef and Romano cheese, tortellini with butter, spices and heavy cream.” CC asked for lasagne, “layered with fresh ricotta, mozzarella and parmesan cheese, seasoned ground beef and red sauce.” Both were $6.95, and came with a choice of minestrone soup or salad, and a small loaf of warm bread, served on a board with a knife stuck in it.
The fellow at the other table left. The waiter threw the peanut shells on the floor. Another couple came in and sat down. The piped-in music was metallic, and it kept coming. It had a nice beat. Not too loud.
The bread tasted good. CC said the soup was good, but only lukewarm. My salad was so-so, but nicely seasoned with a fair sprinkling of olive slices and an abundance of croutons. The tortellini was soft and warm and sort of like soul food. The serving was so ample that I could get only halfway through it. CC said the lasagne had a nice, sharp flavor.
We agreed that the quality of Italian food is consistently good at Big Al’s, which was the first Italian restaurant in Grand Forks, and continues its exclusively Italian menu after five years. It’s fun to eat in the Pasta Parlor, which is also the Peanut Bar, where you can get a beer or a glass of wine with the meal. The same food is available to families who eat in the Chuckhouse Restaurant or patrons of the Casino Sports Bar, also at the Westward Ho Motel.
I liked the shakers of parmesan and hot red pepper on each table. The early evening ambience is right for a quiet, Italian meal. A collection of old chairs and a variety of square, round and oblong tables makes for a casual atmosphere. So does the wooden floor liberally sprinkled with peanut shells. One lethargic fly was driving us crazy. This could happen anywhere at this time of year.
Our service was good. Our waiter delivered us from having to reply 99 times to the question, “How is everything?” He asked only once or twice, and I am convinced that at most restaurants it doesn’t really matter anyway.
Our waiter deserves a gold star for telling us, when he delivered the bill, that we should pay it at the bar. He didn’t make us play guessing games. He was fairly attentive, but ready to remove the dishes before I was ready to relinquish them. He probably isn’t used to people who like to dawdle. When I eat out, I like to take my time.
At 6:20 P.M., a man in a dark jacket came in and was turning the lights up and down. He was puffing on a cigarette.
“Is that Big Al?” I asked the cashier as we were leaving.
“No,” he said. “That’s Jack Carr. He comes in every night about this time to play the honky-tonk piano for the Peanut Bar.”
Big Al’s and the other restaurants at the Westward Ho succumbed to the Red River flood of 1997.