Once upon a double date, about five years back, I tried Panera. I shrugged my shoulders and didn't bother to go back. But this Christmas my aunt gifted us what I assumed was a fine sum on a Panera card. I may have been terribly mistaken.
We navigated a lethal parking lot (where everyone thinks they can have it their way) and stepped inside. The lights were dim, and the radio was pumping out any chart topper since the turn of the century. My style may be mildly off kilter, or maybe I've just frequented too many local joints at this point, but I was not a fan of the wall art or particularly placated by the fireplace wedged in.
However, atmosphere isn't really my main concern when I walk into a chain restaurant, especially if they offer food to go. It's all about the food, the cost, and how tortured my antisocial soul felt interacting with the people surrounding me.
Years ago I had ordered at the register, and while that was still an option, I went for the touch screen kiosks. I hate being that person in line, bumbling through modifications as I try to calculate calories and avoid allergens. I'll admit I'm not the easiest to dine with, but they claimed to let me customize everything: the bread, the toppings, the cheese and condiments. Having had a sandwich for lunch (as part of my continued love affair with bread) I opted to switch up for a sourdough tuna salad.
The bread was a sponge-like foccacia, which I had questioned my mate on, chalking it up to my tiredness being daftly uneducated in the world of breads, and the tuna had a vinegar-ish bite to it. I had also specified to swap spinach for field greens, a request that also wasn't granted. Now had it been a human interaction, I wouldn't have gotten upset. People mishear things all the time. But having been on a kiosk, with no receipt to wave in the waiter's face when they came to collect our table tracker, I felt stuck. And hungry, so I ate the uncustomized sandwich recalculating on their open wifi network using their website menu.
My mate got a steak arugula sandwich. He noted that had they cut back on the overwhelming greens, there would have been a decent amount of meat to call it an average sandwich. The pickled onion was the saving grace, and would have left the sandwich bland without it. He had better luck with his mac n' cheese, with the perfect ratio of flavorful ingredients to give him a good barbeque ka-pow.
He got a piece of ciabatta (I'm not the only one with a bread affair here) and I got a baggie of kettle chips with a crunchy pickle. As a pickle elitist (having grown up canning the garden my grandmother lovingly tended) I was pleasantly surprised, but I'm not going to return based off the sole premise that they have passable pickles. Sure, the sandwiches are a nice sized bite to not have to unhinge your jaw, but my wallet is a bit too slim for these pricey pickings when I, much like the cars in stuck in the lot, cannot have it my way.
I still have another meal for two's worth left on the card, so I'll give Panera one more chance to convert me into a believer, but I think I'll stick local going forward. read more