Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part IX: Strikes, spares and misses

The Swiss Chalet on Niagara Falls Boulevard from an ad in 1965.

April 19, 1985

Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part IX: 

Strikes, spares and misses.

CAPTAIN’S LOG, BAR DATE XXXI: It was a proposition the Captain figured would be hard to resist. The Lost Expedition would gather in one of the most popular suburban spaceports, TGIFriday’s in the Boulevard Mall in Amherst, explore the abundant heart of the Niagara Falls Boulevard commercial strip and loosen up afterwards with a bit of midnight bowling at Suburban Lanes.

        Better yet, the safari would enjoy the blessings of the group rate special on the alleys – six complimentary pitchers of beer and 120 complimentary chicken wings – if a crew of 25 or more could be recruited for this installment of the continuing quest to lift a drink in every licensed establishment on fabled federal Route 62 from Niagara Falls to El Paso, Texas. Or as close to El Paso as they could get.

        Materializing a force of 25 proved to be no problem on their previous outing, the Captain recalled as he alerted the lady at the lanes about the impending invasion. This time there’d be even more.

        It was hard to imagine how they’d squeeze that many more people into TGIFriday’s, though. Taking a hint from the name, perhaps, a dressy, upwardly-mobile mob routinely packs the place on Friday nights. This particular Friday was no exception. An hour’s wait for a table, the fellow at the door announced. The supplicants unable to get in sat on the windowsills in the foyer.

        But there was no wait at the bar. The advance party secured a corner of it and settled in to greet the rest as they beamed in. Acquiring $2-plus cocktails and $1.50 Michelob drafts, they noted that the décor was even busier than the place itself, a riot of brass, stained glass and flea market paraphernalia assembled in improbable tableaux, like the stuffed goat leaping from a toy drum above the drinkers at the bar rail.

        True to his word, the host had tables within an hour or so. By then, however, it was becoming apparent that the crew would not be mustering in sufficient numbers to cash in on the group rate for midnight bowling. A few were out of town. A few others were simply missing in action. The highest headcount, a mere 15, coincided with the arrival of TGIFriday’s new, non-destructible, plastic-coated menus. The Captain located a communicator and told Suburban Lanes the bad news.

        Certain aspects of TGIFriday’s to which the troupe was oblivious at the bar became increasing obtrusive once they were seated at the tables. The level of background chatter was so loud that conversation in anything less than a shout was impossible. Air temperatures rose to a low swelter. As for the food, much of which was in the $5 to $6 range, the trekkers generally concluded that the prices were more substantial than the servings.

        Backtracking to the Swiss Chalet Restaurant at 1551 Niagara Falls Blvd., the expeditioners encountered an entirely opposite set of conditions. In keeping with its family-style intentions, it was temperate, it was quiet and the sea of Formica-topped tables in the stuccoed, wide-open dining room was almost empty.

        Joining a few tables together in a corner, the trekkers discovered that prices here were modest as well. The most expensive thing on the menu, the barbecued ribs dinner, came to only $6.99. Drinks also proved reasonable. Miller draft beer was 99 cents, a bottle of Heineken’s, $1.50, and fancy cocktails at $1.75 in tall glasses belied the fact that they weren’t especially strong.

        The arrival of the orders, however, demonstrated resoundingly that the entire charm of the Swiss Chalet is in its sauce, that tangy dip which makes everything it touches delicious. When it came time to leave a tip, the party showed extra empathy for the waitress, whose burdens included being upbraided by the ever-grammatical California Co-Pilot for her use of “youse.”

        Having partaken of two chain outlets, the troupe was obliged to take in a third, the Pizza Hut at 1400 Falls Blvd. It was the third Pizza Hut they’d encountered on Route 62 and it reinforced the general opinion that if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. A few nuances differentiated this one, however. Like the wainscoting, the etched glass dividers and the mysterious absence of high schoolers, who usually hang out at Pizza Huts in droves.

        The Captain, having won a coupon entitling him to a free pizza, any size, any toppings, decided to cash it in on the biggest, most-condiment-laden version the kitchen could produce. Pitchers of beer helped wash it down.

        The mood was most convivial until it was proclaimed that the next stop would be another family restaurant, the Sizzler Steak House at 1304 Falls Blvd. The trekkers protested loudly, but since it was past midnight, they were spared. The Sizzler was closed.

        That warped them back to Suburban Lanes at 1201 Falls Blvd., next door to where they started. Like everything else in this area, it’s a huge place – 52 lanes, a significant video game arcade and a cavernous ‘60s-style cocktail lounge, where the service was remarkably efficient.

        Early departures reduced the bowling party to less than a dozen, all of whom anted up $4.50 for three games and another 60 cents for shoes. Taking three alleys near the far wall, they delighted in the modern brightness of the place and its machinery, but despaired in their search for acceptable bowling balls. Their scores suffered accordingly. Like the rest of the night, they’d come expecting strikes, but wound up settling for spares and misses.