Monday, February 26, 2007
Places I Have Eaten
Sorry for the lack of stuff lately; been in training again.
The missus hankered for a fine meal on Saturday night, so around four o'clock we reserved ourselves a table for 9 pm at Petit Robert and commenced with the anticipating. She'd eaten there a time or two in the past, and loved it, whereas I was entering a complete novice. Due to the addvanced praise my hopes were as high as the restaurant's falution. Thankfully Petit Robert pulled through with perhaps the most awesome dining experience ever.
We arrived five minutes before our reservation time, and immediately could tell we wouldn't be seated at nine. There were a half-dozen or so other couples standing around waiting, along with a party of four. The hostess girl (kinda hot) was as harried as the protagonist of Sega's arcade classic Space Harrier II, constantly asking the passing waiters and waitresses how much longer certain tables would be, while continually doling out menus and winelists as requested by the wait staff and the waiting customers. We grabbed some wallspace next to the hostess's computer, which kept track of the reservations, and we noticed that couples with 8:30 times still had yet to be seated. The bar was packed, so all we could do was stand there in the very small and overly crowded entrance, with me lingering on the staircase to the downstairs dining room. We stood there for about a half-hour, partially obstructing the wait staff as they ferried food up and down the stairs, as the hostess got more and more frantic with each passing minute. Eventually the bar opened up, so we went downstairs, grabbed a drink, and watched the pastry chefs make some desserts. The desserts looked AWESOME. The kindly manager, a dead ringer for Ken Marino with a British accent, personally took our drink orders, and was about as nice as any restaurant-affiliated employee I've ever encountered. After ten or fifteen more minutes at the bar, the manager told us our table was ready, and led us back upstairs. We finally got a table around 9:40. The fun was about to begin.
We fell in love with the people sitting at the table next to us. The man was fairly non-descript, kinda schlubby, bald and bespectacled and not exactly well-dressed. He looked like Neal Boortz. His lady-friend, though, was amazing; her long black hair was teased out, her coat was made of some sort of animal fur dyed with fake leopard spots, and her accent was as nasal and New Yawk as any ever heard outside of The Nanny. If she wasn't some mobster's little girl, she certainly wanted to look the part. Except, you know, she was like 45, or something. Anyway, as we sat down they were having a fairly loud fight; that ended quickly enough for us not to catch any of the specifics, but I hope to God it had something to do with the lady bitching about Boortz not leaving his wife for her yet. The spat ended when the wine arrived; they placed their orders, and everything seemed to be fine. My wife wound up ordering the same thing Boortz did, a lamb cassoulet. A few minutes after we order, the waitress brings Boortz and his Debi Mazarian friend their food. Instead of the cassoulet, he was given some other lamb dish. He complained a little, his friend complained a lot; to mollify them while the cook made the right dish the manager brought them a free appetizer. Boortzy refused the appetizer, though, telling the manager to give it to somebody who'd actually want it; that turned out to be his lady-friend, who was more than happy to eat it alongside her entree.
Ten minutes later, the waitress brought us our food. Same mistake. Instead of the cassoulet, they brought my wife the other lamb dish. No problem, though; she still had some soup, and there was still bread in our basket, so we could wait. I picked at my roast chicken (with natural juices) a bit, but mostly waited for her cassoulet to show up. Soon she had her food, we began to eat, and everything was excellent. Then the water lady spilled a pitcher of water all over Ms. Princess and her fur coat. Poor, poor water lady. Drescher yelled at the water lady for a few seconds, grabbed her coat, and ran to the bathroom. Boortz laughed a little when she was gone and kept on eating. The water lady cleaned up the mess, apparently taking Fran's glass of wine away in the process. The manager was apologizing to Boortz when Drescher got back to the table; she yelled out that she was all wet, and her coat was all wet, and how they needed to get their meal for free, as loudly and nasally as humanly possible. She then noticed her wine glass was gone, and began to complain about that. The manager apologized profusely, but with all dignity intact. He brought by a free bottle of wine to replace the bit that was taken away, and also offered free desserts. That didn't keep Fran from complaining the rest of the night, though. We also got free desserts, and a couple of free beers, ostensibly because of the cassoulet mishap; I think it was actually the restaurant apologizing for seating us next to these two, though.
Anyhow, despite how it might sound, nothing about this meal was that big of a hassle or inconvenience. We didn't mind the wait at all, and even the entree mix-up was completely fine with us. In fact the stuff with the other table was so awesome that any inconveniences would've been cool even if they had been major. The food was tremendous, probably the second-best meal I've had in this town, and the wait staff was friendly and pleasing to the eye. I heartily endorse Petit Robert, especially if they can seat you next to a couple of entertainingly immature assholes.
Sorry for the lack of stuff lately; been in training again.
The missus hankered for a fine meal on Saturday night, so around four o'clock we reserved ourselves a table for 9 pm at Petit Robert and commenced with the anticipating. She'd eaten there a time or two in the past, and loved it, whereas I was entering a complete novice. Due to the addvanced praise my hopes were as high as the restaurant's falution. Thankfully Petit Robert pulled through with perhaps the most awesome dining experience ever.
We arrived five minutes before our reservation time, and immediately could tell we wouldn't be seated at nine. There were a half-dozen or so other couples standing around waiting, along with a party of four. The hostess girl (kinda hot) was as harried as the protagonist of Sega's arcade classic Space Harrier II, constantly asking the passing waiters and waitresses how much longer certain tables would be, while continually doling out menus and winelists as requested by the wait staff and the waiting customers. We grabbed some wallspace next to the hostess's computer, which kept track of the reservations, and we noticed that couples with 8:30 times still had yet to be seated. The bar was packed, so all we could do was stand there in the very small and overly crowded entrance, with me lingering on the staircase to the downstairs dining room. We stood there for about a half-hour, partially obstructing the wait staff as they ferried food up and down the stairs, as the hostess got more and more frantic with each passing minute. Eventually the bar opened up, so we went downstairs, grabbed a drink, and watched the pastry chefs make some desserts. The desserts looked AWESOME. The kindly manager, a dead ringer for Ken Marino with a British accent, personally took our drink orders, and was about as nice as any restaurant-affiliated employee I've ever encountered. After ten or fifteen more minutes at the bar, the manager told us our table was ready, and led us back upstairs. We finally got a table around 9:40. The fun was about to begin.
We fell in love with the people sitting at the table next to us. The man was fairly non-descript, kinda schlubby, bald and bespectacled and not exactly well-dressed. He looked like Neal Boortz. His lady-friend, though, was amazing; her long black hair was teased out, her coat was made of some sort of animal fur dyed with fake leopard spots, and her accent was as nasal and New Yawk as any ever heard outside of The Nanny. If she wasn't some mobster's little girl, she certainly wanted to look the part. Except, you know, she was like 45, or something. Anyway, as we sat down they were having a fairly loud fight; that ended quickly enough for us not to catch any of the specifics, but I hope to God it had something to do with the lady bitching about Boortz not leaving his wife for her yet. The spat ended when the wine arrived; they placed their orders, and everything seemed to be fine. My wife wound up ordering the same thing Boortz did, a lamb cassoulet. A few minutes after we order, the waitress brings Boortz and his Debi Mazarian friend their food. Instead of the cassoulet, he was given some other lamb dish. He complained a little, his friend complained a lot; to mollify them while the cook made the right dish the manager brought them a free appetizer. Boortzy refused the appetizer, though, telling the manager to give it to somebody who'd actually want it; that turned out to be his lady-friend, who was more than happy to eat it alongside her entree.
Ten minutes later, the waitress brought us our food. Same mistake. Instead of the cassoulet, they brought my wife the other lamb dish. No problem, though; she still had some soup, and there was still bread in our basket, so we could wait. I picked at my roast chicken (with natural juices) a bit, but mostly waited for her cassoulet to show up. Soon she had her food, we began to eat, and everything was excellent. Then the water lady spilled a pitcher of water all over Ms. Princess and her fur coat. Poor, poor water lady. Drescher yelled at the water lady for a few seconds, grabbed her coat, and ran to the bathroom. Boortz laughed a little when she was gone and kept on eating. The water lady cleaned up the mess, apparently taking Fran's glass of wine away in the process. The manager was apologizing to Boortz when Drescher got back to the table; she yelled out that she was all wet, and her coat was all wet, and how they needed to get their meal for free, as loudly and nasally as humanly possible. She then noticed her wine glass was gone, and began to complain about that. The manager apologized profusely, but with all dignity intact. He brought by a free bottle of wine to replace the bit that was taken away, and also offered free desserts. That didn't keep Fran from complaining the rest of the night, though. We also got free desserts, and a couple of free beers, ostensibly because of the cassoulet mishap; I think it was actually the restaurant apologizing for seating us next to these two, though.
Anyhow, despite how it might sound, nothing about this meal was that big of a hassle or inconvenience. We didn't mind the wait at all, and even the entree mix-up was completely fine with us. In fact the stuff with the other table was so awesome that any inconveniences would've been cool even if they had been major. The food was tremendous, probably the second-best meal I've had in this town, and the wait staff was friendly and pleasing to the eye. I heartily endorse Petit Robert, especially if they can seat you next to a couple of entertainingly immature assholes.
