Before diner's debut, 'soft opening' helps work out kinks

Last week, after a quick shopping trip with my daughter, we decided to eat at the mall. The food court held little appeal; I was more in the mood to sit down and be served. Rifling through my mental Rolodex of places to eat (every restaurant critic has one), I said, "Hey, let's see if Ruby's Diner has opened yet."

Alderwood Mall has been in the throes of expansion for months, issuing promotional brochures that promise something akin to the second coming of University Village. While most of the new shops, open-air arcades and restaurants aren't slated to open until the fall, Ruby's Diner announced a mid-May debut in the space long ago vacated by Pizzeria Uno.

"Opening soon," said the banner still draped across the food court entrance to the restaurant. But then we saw people going in through the front door from the parking lot, so we followed them.

"Welcome to Ruby's Diner," smiled the apple-cheeked young hostess, her red lipstick perfectly matched to her jaunty uniform. "Two for dinner?"

Behind her I could see the restaurant was operating at full tilt. Almost every gleaming-white table was occupied, but we were immediately shown to a corner booth with glossy seats the color of maraschino cherries.

Ruby's Diner is a Technicolor world of candy-cane reds, whipped cream whites and shiny chrome. Dressed to match, the staff is composed of the freshest faces I've seen since the first episode of "Happy Days" aired. Time seems to have stopped here, circa 1959. The menu is vintage Americana, and so are the toy trains endlessly circling on tracks suspended from the ceiling.

My 7-year-old, looking wide-eyed like Alice tripping through the looking glass, took in the scene and more or less accurately observed, "Everyone here is a teenager."

"Welcome to Ruby's Diner," said our server, Emilie, a dimpled lass in a perky cap, a short skirt and a pristine white apron. "As you know, everything is free tonight."

Now I was feeling a little Alice-like. "It is?"

"Oh, you didn't know. We're doing a soft opening," she explained. "We're sort of like practicing, so your meal is free, and all we ask is that you fill out this comment card."

Suddenly it all made sense. Some restaurants open with a big splashy media event and lots of fanfare. Others open quietly, preferring to work out the inevitable kinks before getting swamped by the public. That's known as a soft opening.

Restaurants with deep enough pockets like Ruby's Diner, a nationally franchised chain that has a branch in Redmond Town Center as well, can afford to put their employees through lengthy simulated practice runs.

To do this, of course, they need mouths to feed. Usually the audience is a carefully controlled group of family and friends invited to eat for free and critique the food and service. Usually restaurant critics aren't included. I had unwittingly infiltrated Ruby's soft opening.

"Are you going to tell them you write for the paper, Mom?" whispered my daughter, always intrigued by the skulking methods my work sometimes requires.

"Nope," I said chuckling, "I'm off duty. I'm just going to enjoy this."

Emilie explained the deal: We were each entitled to order one entree, and we could share an appetizer and a fountain item. "Can I bring you an Oreo shake, or maybe a root-beer float?"

"How about lemonade and a Sprite," I demurred.

"Great! I'll bring it right away. If you're in the mood for a salad," she added, "I recommend the Chinese chicken salad. It's my absolute favorite."

I went for the salad; my daughter chose chicken strips. We decided to share an order of fried zucchini.

"How about a banana split?" coaxed Emilie.

"Let's wait and see," I said.

Our booth was positioned near the kitchen door, where I could see the servers coming and going, fetching food while trying not to get in each other's way. Their worried faces would break into resolute smiles as soon as they hit the dining room. Smiling at all times must be one of the rules, I thought, though it wasn't one of the 20 or so questions on the comment card that demanded a yes or no answer from me.

Did the hostess make you feel welcome? Did someone approach your table with a greeting within three minutes of being seated? Did your server recommend specific dishes? Did your food arrive within 12 minutes of placing your order? Did your server return within three minutes to ask how everything was?

So far, Emilie had a perfect score.

"How about that banana split?" she asked on one of her frequent return visits.

"Maybe later," I said.

My daughter's chicken strips and fries came in a basket with a toy, but she was much more fascinated with my salad, which looked like a flying saucer complete with stiff bat-like wings made of purple cabbage leaves. Wispy rice noodles partially obscured the sliced chicken breast on a bed of crunchy lettuces moistened with a creamy sesame dressing. When I put some chicken on a side plate for her to taste, I noticed it was seriously undercooked

Back again, as if on cue, Emilie asked again, "Everything okay?"

I showed her the chicken. Filled with apologies she handled the situation with aplomb. "I'll bring you another one right away. I'm so sorry."

"That's OK," I assured her. "That's why you're practicing, right?"

She removed the plates but didn't think to take away the silverware or bring fresh utensils until a supervisor reminded her. It was comforting to know there were grown-ups on the floor keeping a close eye on things.

The new salad arrived and was consumed with more gusto than the fried zucchini rounds, meant to be dunked in ranch dressing. Only lots of ketchup made them palatable.

"You didn't like the zucchini?" asked Emilie, clearing away the still-full plate.

"Not really," I admitted, though I felt it my duty to go into greater detail on the comment card. In fact, by now my tiny scribbles were filling the margins.

"I can take it off your bill," she offered. "Now, are you ready for that banana split now?"

"Okay," I said, thinking "what bill?"

In fact, the servers do have to present a bill. In the folder there was also play money, a card suggesting a donation (of real money) to Children's Hospital and another that said: "Surprise! It's your birthday. Tell your server."

When Emilie brought the banana split I showed her the birthday advisory. "I think that means we have to sing to you. I'll check," she said.

By the time we had polished off all we could eat of the banana split, Emilie was back with a chocolate sundae and about a dozen other servers to back her up.

"Hey, everyone," she shouted to the room. "Someone's having a birthday!"

To my daughter's immense mortification, they sang a silly birthday song and planted a souvenir soda jerk's cap on her head. Everyone in the place cheered.

"You don't have to eat the sundae," confided Emilie, when the hoopla subsided. "But I had to bring it."

We left behind the melting sundae, a nice tip, and something for Children's Hospital too.

We'll definitely return to Ruby's Diner (which officially opened May 13 and serves breakfast, lunch and dinner daily) — but not, my daughter is adamant, if it's anywhere near her actual birthday.

Providence Cicero: providencecicero@aol.com