Yes, I have arrived safely and soundly in South Florida; my plane touching ground at 2 pm, and my parents arriving at the airport slightly late, but–in their defense–the plane landed early.
One brief note about Airtran. For the money you save, Airtran is worth the small discrepancies: the shopworn flight attendants, the buslike wear-and-tear of the seats. My problem is with the terminal. Granted, airports are airports–transitional spaces of little consequence. Yet, whereas Terminal A (the Delta terminal) has a benign, inoffensive quality, Terminal C (the Airtran terminal) is like the bathroom in a McDonalds. The grease in the air–from the bustling Popeye’s in the terminal’s center–takes on a physical presence. I felt my nostrils saturate with cholesterol and my skin begin to crisp like chicken. As if that weren’t enough, there were two Airtran hawkers pushing some sort of promotion to unsuspecting, uninterested passersby. Their annoying routine–“Excuse me, ma’am, but you know you want to save money on your next round trip ticket”–created a circuslike, fleamarket atmosphere in what should have been a quiet place to sit calmly reading my Bon Apetit and talking on my cell phone. Mr. Hartsfield shall be hearing from me shortly.
But, I digress. You’re not here for airport talk. You’re here for food.
Tonight my parents took me to Cafe Maxx which I incorrectly (in my previous post) declared to be a West Palm Beach establishment. It is, in fact, in Pompano (just North of Ft. Lauderdale).
One thing about eating with my parents is that often my body isn’t ready for it. If my calorie intake in Atlanta is a 4 on a scale from 1 to 10, dining with my parents pushes my body to its outer reaches: 9, 10, 11 and counting. I feel so full right now that the prospect of describing my dinner fills me with an existential dread.
Yet, I must press on for you, my vicarious eaters.
I was surprised, when we reached the restaurant, to see that it was across the street from a ramshackle shopping center with a Walgreen’s and a discount fashion store. The whole area had a very average, Florida-ish beaten down quality to it. No place, in other words, for a glamorous restaurant. I shot a picture of the awning before we went inside:
The space was somewhat inviting, with a nice vase of flowers in the front. My dad would later liken the interior to that of a Ruby Tuesday’s but my mom smacked his arm and said: “Oh, Brad, shut up.”
Our waitress was sunny but intelligent; she guided us through the menu, and only once tried to upsell us. (She tried to push another bottle of wine after we finished our entrees). In terms of wine, my parents chose a bottle of ZD Chardonnay.
The Chardonnay was nice, properly cool and woodier than some sweeter ones I’ve had. Admittedly, my wine knowledge is usually limited to “it was white” “it was red” so take my opinion with a grain of salt.
We started with an appetizer of duck ravioli which sounds scarier than it was. In fact, it was really wonderful: a really interesting blend of flavors—notably a peppery olive oil, sundried tomatoes and Parmesan cheese.
Next, my mom and I split a lobster bisque:
While my dad stared down his unusual caviar pie with toast tips:
“What’s wrong Brad?” my mother beckoned.
“Nothing,” he said, scraping some caviar pie on to a toast tip.
“Here dad,” I said bravely, “I’ll trade with you.”
He agreed. The caviar pie was actually good. It was a layer of egg, a layer of onions, a layer of sour cream and a layer of caviar.
“Mmm,” I said to show how good deeds have good rewards.
My dad was too busy slurping soup.
Finally, our entrees arrived. I had the signature dish, an onion glazed snapper:
My mother had lamb chops with a feta crust:
And dad had a veal chop:
We chomped away and soon we were done.
“I’m so full,” I moaned.
“Ah ah ah,” mom chided, “let’s not forget dessert.”
Dessert menus were brought. I ordered banana coconut crepes:
I could barely touch them. They rolled me out of the restaurant, into the car, and carried me up to my desk where I write to you now. Only two more days of this and then my body will return to normal. I just hope my plane takes off.
3 thoughts on “Cafe Maxx (South Florida)”
Sounds nummy!!! When you get home you can eat Saltines for a week and even out your calories. LOL
Thank you for your interest in the AirTran terminal at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.
AirTran worked closely with Traveler Experience Specialists and the Hartsfield-Jackson Airport Marketing Department to produce what we like to call “Grease Chic”. Terminal C represents the culmination of years of research into what America’s air travelers need and expect when flying on a budget. While “big-spender” travelers at luxury providers like Delta enjoy muted, industrial colors and high-end dining options, AirTran customers neither expect nor appreciate such service or cleanliness. In fact, studies have shown that a “greasy film” is one of the things they look for on such varied surfaces as benches, restroom door handles, customer-service representatives and their own lungs.
Combining this research with the limited resources provided to us by plane-loads of cheap customers has given the world the apex of budget traveling: Terminal C. It’s your tight-ass dollars at work. Enjoy it.
The AirTran Customer Service Team
Operating Out Of the Terminal C Men’s Room, Stall #2
I am all about presentation and the presentation on that meal was horrible. Too overdone and a bit tacky. They should tone it down a bit.
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