My previous visits to Mas in Charlottesville have all been exercises in controlled gluttony. You finish your meal realizing you have eaten perhaps double what you should have, but the food has been so good that the satiation feels grand.
Tonight, it was just the kid and me.
We scraped into the parking lot behind Mas with barely an hour to spare before The Avett Brothers concert. The wait was far too long, but the hostess had a bench with a not-really-table table that she could spare. Next thing you know, she is asking the kid which kind of juice soda she wants and what beer I want, and we're settling in at the nook in the corner. Not exactly perfect planning, but things were working out.
The kid was tired and distracted, but we covered the menu and put orders in. Anchovies, spinach and manchego salad, hummus, lamb sausage, and empanada with Caremont chevre. The dishes came out with remarkable speed, particularly considering how busy the restaurant was.
The kid tried the anchovies; she wasn't sure about them, but it was a start. She liked the hummus though it was a tad spicy. The spinach salad? She hated the dressing. Hated it. One of the servers stopped by, and I took a step I rarely take which was to say that the salad wasn't to her liking. Next thing we know a comped spinach salad with oil and vinegar arrives. She wolfed it down, and minutes later we were paying the tab to get to the show.
How were my dishes? Terrific. The empanada with Caremont chevre, jalapenos and applewood smoked ham chunks was delicious. The merguez with a habanero-cider chutney was delicious. The anchovies were as delicate as they could be. And I could only finish the empanada. As I told the excellent hostess, one of these days I will remember to order half of what I want to order.
The real win there wasn't the food, however, it was the service. They took care of us in ways that will be sure to bring me back.
Kudos.
Showing posts with label restaurants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label restaurants. Show all posts
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
slipping, redux
A little over six months ago, I wrote about what happens when a restaurant starts slipping. For places you count on, it starts with a meal or a part of a meal that just isn't as good as it used to be. You let it slide because the kitchen has always been good; maybe they're just having an off night. The chef isn't there. The staff changed. Whatever. You go back because you count on the next meal being as good as the ones you've had before.
Except it isn't. That next meal might even be worse. Or just continuing in the same, mediocre vein you saw in the last one. Or maybe the staff just isn't as enthusiastic as they'd always been.
For us, it finally happened with a long-time favorite. The rumbling started when news that the chef-owner had sold his stake and was moving on to another project. This guy has a track record of leaving restaurants, though, and they always seem to survive — and continue to do well. So, yeah. No big deal, right?
At least, it's no big deal when the kitchen sends out standards that are just as good as they were and adds a new dish or two that gives you hope. But what about when the opposite happens? Because it has. First, there was the standard appetizer/entrée item that L always gets — a set of seafood cakes — that came out less flavorful and with more breading than before, and the new entrée I ordered that was less than impressive. We gave them a pass, though, because that's what you do when you love the restaurant and they've always come through for you in the past.
Until the next meal. Until that beet salad that suddenly has pickled onions and peakéd micro-greens. Until the roast duck that comes out as tough as a state fair turkey leg. Until the mussels that are simply inedible — poor quality, and served in a bland, gloppy marinara sauce rather than a light tomato brodo. Until the bored staff spends too long in the kitchen hanging out, and the food takes almost an hour to arrive. On a slow night.
Nope. That's the point when you say Our favorite restaurant has slipped. We may not be back. And you hope the owners take notice and kick the kitchen back into gear.
What would you do?
Except it isn't. That next meal might even be worse. Or just continuing in the same, mediocre vein you saw in the last one. Or maybe the staff just isn't as enthusiastic as they'd always been.
For us, it finally happened with a long-time favorite. The rumbling started when news that the chef-owner had sold his stake and was moving on to another project. This guy has a track record of leaving restaurants, though, and they always seem to survive — and continue to do well. So, yeah. No big deal, right?
At least, it's no big deal when the kitchen sends out standards that are just as good as they were and adds a new dish or two that gives you hope. But what about when the opposite happens? Because it has. First, there was the standard appetizer/entrée item that L always gets — a set of seafood cakes — that came out less flavorful and with more breading than before, and the new entrée I ordered that was less than impressive. We gave them a pass, though, because that's what you do when you love the restaurant and they've always come through for you in the past.
Until the next meal. Until that beet salad that suddenly has pickled onions and peakéd micro-greens. Until the roast duck that comes out as tough as a state fair turkey leg. Until the mussels that are simply inedible — poor quality, and served in a bland, gloppy marinara sauce rather than a light tomato brodo. Until the bored staff spends too long in the kitchen hanging out, and the food takes almost an hour to arrive. On a slow night.
Nope. That's the point when you say Our favorite restaurant has slipped. We may not be back. And you hope the owners take notice and kick the kitchen back into gear.
What would you do?
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Going public
So there is a very big change happening in my life in the next two days... I will be leaving my current company. The end-result of this is yet to be seen, but the short-term plans include helping out some friends with art direction, design and copy freelance work (both web and print) and pushing at a business plan. At the same time, I will be looking at full-time jobs in the vein I've been in for years now, but the business plan is an important side note. The goal I and a couple partners have is to take the upsized homebrewing project legit and open a new brewery in Richmond in the next year.
To that end, I've got a fun little project set up for next week: a beer dinner on Sunday, January 16 at Ipanema.
When I was originally approached about it, I was excited to do it, but then I'll admit I was a little nervous. After all, I'm veggie-friendly but also a committed omnivore. What kinds of beers would not only pair with an interesting vegetarian winter menu but would also be distinctive enough to set the dinner apart from similar events in town. In the end, I opted to stay local with the beer choices, and the menu turned out to be this:
Kudos to Will at Ipanema for a terrific menu. More details and tickets here, if you're interested in joining us.
To that end, I've got a fun little project set up for next week: a beer dinner on Sunday, January 16 at Ipanema.
When I was originally approached about it, I was excited to do it, but then I'll admit I was a little nervous. After all, I'm veggie-friendly but also a committed omnivore. What kinds of beers would not only pair with an interesting vegetarian winter menu but would also be distinctive enough to set the dinner apart from similar events in town. In the end, I opted to stay local with the beer choices, and the menu turned out to be this:
Course 1
Winter vegetable terrine, roasted mushroom pâté, and local cheeses
Foggy Ridge First Fruit Cider — This dry cider from Floyd, VA, with a touch of fruitiness will pair nicely with the local cheeses and rich terrine and pâté.
Course 2
Welsh rarebit with honey roasted radishes and walnuts
Tupper’s Keller Pils — While the first inkling was to go with a brown ale here, the dry taste of the pils should provide a nice contrast for the richness of the rarebit.
Course 3
Root vegetable cassoulet with black-eyed peas and winter greens
Stillwater Existent or Cellar Door — Existent is a deliciously hoppy black IPA fermented with a Belgian yeast, and Cellar Door is a classic saison flavored with a touch of white sage. There's an either/or here based on label approval for the Existent (VA ABC!).
Course 4
Churros with spiced chocolate, Orange/vanilla flan
Blue Mountain Dark Hollow — This is our coup of the evening. The Dark Hollow is traditionally only sold at the brewery, but the kind brewers at Blue Mountain have agreed to release a case for this event.
Kudos to Will at Ipanema for a terrific menu. More details and tickets here, if you're interested in joining us.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Slipping
A fellow foodie recently raised the question of how to approach a restaurant you love to let them know they're slipping. The brief conversation jogged something I've thought about a lot in the past and wanted to tackle here. What is that intangible moment when you recognize — and finally note — that one of your favorites has gone off its game? At what point, do you realize it's not just an off-night or two but a real slip in quality?
When your favorite neighborhood joint messes up too many meals or loses the servers who helped give it a bit of extra charm, do you say something? Or do you just stop going? Become that regular who no longer eats there every Thursday? What responsibility do we have as customers — and sometimes friends — to let a place know that it is off its game?
A few years ago, the kid and I had a regular meal at one of the Richmond Fan favorites. Many weeks, we'd be there twice. The servers knew us; we were treated well. Then the quality started to slip a little bit. A couple of our favorite servers left; some orders came out wrong; the quality of ingredients seemed to go off a bit. Ultimately, though, it was managerial indifference, a shrug when a server added a tip to my card when I'd left cash for a tip, that got us to stop going to the place.
As a loyal person, I recognize our willingness to put up with some of the mistakes was a direct result of my love for the restaurant. The managerial shrug — and a fiver handed back to me — put us off for months, until the kid wanted to go back one day and we got word that one of our favorite servers had been looking for us. And the food? It was just okay, and I realized that I'd been lulled into accepting what was at best middling food made with fair ingredients for years. When I could have taken my business elsewhere, I kept going because it was just easy and it was what we expected.
The place in question is busy enough that the loss of our business probably didn't hurt them. Likewise, they do enough business that my complaint about quality would probably have fallen on ears made deaf by the ring of the cash register. That said, there have been moments when I've been willing to step up — commenting on a change in the quality of bread made by one of our local shining stars, mentioning a side dish that is clearly overdone from a kitchen that knows better — and in most cases, the comments were greeted with thanks.
The truth is that the Richmond dining scene is big enough that restaurants should guard against resting on their laurels. But because it is also a dining scene in which a few luminaries carry a lot of weight, many customers put up with more paint-by-numbers food than they should.
Keeping that in mind, I would push everyone who loves food and who develops relationships with restaurants to let joints know when they're off their game. Even if it's a matter of asking questions about why something seems different, resist the urge to be obnoxious, but let the chef or server know if something isn't as good as it was before.
************
UPDATE: Guess I should add that I have specifically avoided naming names. There are a number of places that I've simply stopped going to because they've either decided to rest on their laurels or haven't kept up their game as new competition has hit the streets. Feel free to name names in the comments, however.
When your favorite neighborhood joint messes up too many meals or loses the servers who helped give it a bit of extra charm, do you say something? Or do you just stop going? Become that regular who no longer eats there every Thursday? What responsibility do we have as customers — and sometimes friends — to let a place know that it is off its game?
A few years ago, the kid and I had a regular meal at one of the Richmond Fan favorites. Many weeks, we'd be there twice. The servers knew us; we were treated well. Then the quality started to slip a little bit. A couple of our favorite servers left; some orders came out wrong; the quality of ingredients seemed to go off a bit. Ultimately, though, it was managerial indifference, a shrug when a server added a tip to my card when I'd left cash for a tip, that got us to stop going to the place.
As a loyal person, I recognize our willingness to put up with some of the mistakes was a direct result of my love for the restaurant. The managerial shrug — and a fiver handed back to me — put us off for months, until the kid wanted to go back one day and we got word that one of our favorite servers had been looking for us. And the food? It was just okay, and I realized that I'd been lulled into accepting what was at best middling food made with fair ingredients for years. When I could have taken my business elsewhere, I kept going because it was just easy and it was what we expected.
The place in question is busy enough that the loss of our business probably didn't hurt them. Likewise, they do enough business that my complaint about quality would probably have fallen on ears made deaf by the ring of the cash register. That said, there have been moments when I've been willing to step up — commenting on a change in the quality of bread made by one of our local shining stars, mentioning a side dish that is clearly overdone from a kitchen that knows better — and in most cases, the comments were greeted with thanks.
The truth is that the Richmond dining scene is big enough that restaurants should guard against resting on their laurels. But because it is also a dining scene in which a few luminaries carry a lot of weight, many customers put up with more paint-by-numbers food than they should.
Keeping that in mind, I would push everyone who loves food and who develops relationships with restaurants to let joints know when they're off their game. Even if it's a matter of asking questions about why something seems different, resist the urge to be obnoxious, but let the chef or server know if something isn't as good as it was before.
************
UPDATE: Guess I should add that I have specifically avoided naming names. There are a number of places that I've simply stopped going to because they've either decided to rest on their laurels or haven't kept up their game as new competition has hit the streets. Feel free to name names in the comments, however.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
A note about small plates, and restaurants in general.
A friend recently posted on his blog about a favorite spot of mine, Secco. I've noted to others that Secco isn't my go-to joint for a meal because putting a full dinner together can sometimes cost more than L and I have as discretionary funds. Why? Because, as people have noted before, the plates are small.
An omnivore like me may be able to put together a fine meal for under $30 — duck or steak, a salad, soup plus the schiacciata, for instance. There's enough balance and richness to satisfy my palate and leave me feeling satisfied. A pickier eater may find it difficult, though. Vegetarians will find some very tasty items, but at least in our visits, L hasn't found the plates satisfying enough. As a result, we're more likely to enjoy one of the best cheese and charcuterie plates in town, drink some excellent wines, and finish the meal at home.
A few times recently, Secco seems to have become a straw man for what some Richmond diners see as the problem with small plates in general. They are — well — small. What a surprise, right? The point of tapas or shared delicacies is that you enjoy a variety of tastes. It's possible to put a full meal together, but you have to strip away expectations of each person getting an appetizer, entree, and dessert. Regardless, the problem with many small plate restaurants is that they often aren't adventurous enough. Too often, small plates simply seem like easy ways for restaurants to maximize profit and minimize care for preparation. This is where Secco beats the curve.
My standard for a good restaurant — no matter the cuisine, style, or cost — is whether it provides me with meals I can't produce myself. Whether it's because of better equipment, ingredients or the elusive techniques of proper preparation, I don't care. If I have been served something transporting that I could not produce as well myself (or find better elsewhere), the restaurant gets my kudos. Mas Tapas in Charlottesville fits the bill. So does Catina, a local banh mi joint. Numerous falafel joints in New York that leave me longing for the right crunch, not to mention a couple steak joints in the city that simply produce a better filet than I can duplicate, are on the list. I could go on, but the point is Secco has landed on that list faster than other places in town. What the chef is producing is worth tasting and savoring. I haven't sampled anything yet that didn't make me smile.
L and I may not eat there as often as I'd like, but that has more to do with life in general than it does a quality-to-price ratio. Ultimately, I wish there were more restaurants that delivered the way Secco does.
****************
In the interest of full disclosure, I am friends with the owner and staff of Secco. But that's only a small part of why I am proud to say they've hit the mark so well. Richmond needed a place like this.
An omnivore like me may be able to put together a fine meal for under $30 — duck or steak, a salad, soup plus the schiacciata, for instance. There's enough balance and richness to satisfy my palate and leave me feeling satisfied. A pickier eater may find it difficult, though. Vegetarians will find some very tasty items, but at least in our visits, L hasn't found the plates satisfying enough. As a result, we're more likely to enjoy one of the best cheese and charcuterie plates in town, drink some excellent wines, and finish the meal at home.
A few times recently, Secco seems to have become a straw man for what some Richmond diners see as the problem with small plates in general. They are — well — small. What a surprise, right? The point of tapas or shared delicacies is that you enjoy a variety of tastes. It's possible to put a full meal together, but you have to strip away expectations of each person getting an appetizer, entree, and dessert. Regardless, the problem with many small plate restaurants is that they often aren't adventurous enough. Too often, small plates simply seem like easy ways for restaurants to maximize profit and minimize care for preparation. This is where Secco beats the curve.
My standard for a good restaurant — no matter the cuisine, style, or cost — is whether it provides me with meals I can't produce myself. Whether it's because of better equipment, ingredients or the elusive techniques of proper preparation, I don't care. If I have been served something transporting that I could not produce as well myself (or find better elsewhere), the restaurant gets my kudos. Mas Tapas in Charlottesville fits the bill. So does Catina, a local banh mi joint. Numerous falafel joints in New York that leave me longing for the right crunch, not to mention a couple steak joints in the city that simply produce a better filet than I can duplicate, are on the list. I could go on, but the point is Secco has landed on that list faster than other places in town. What the chef is producing is worth tasting and savoring. I haven't sampled anything yet that didn't make me smile.
L and I may not eat there as often as I'd like, but that has more to do with life in general than it does a quality-to-price ratio. Ultimately, I wish there were more restaurants that delivered the way Secco does.
****************
In the interest of full disclosure, I am friends with the owner and staff of Secco. But that's only a small part of why I am proud to say they've hit the mark so well. Richmond needed a place like this.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Stuzzi — Adding salt to the mix.
After one of my fellow food bloggers exposed some questionable management techniques at Stuzzi, I was determined that we wouldn't try it. The place had gotten enough negative press from fellow foodies for mediocre pies, poor climate control, an inexperienced staff, and a bloviating owner that we had steered clear already. Still, the place also had enough buzz that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Fast-forward to this past Sunday when a friend suggested it for dinner. The kid had headed off for the night with her mom, and I hadn't planned ahead for dinner so we had a "why not" moment.
When we arrived, there were people spilling out the door. Even on a Sunday night, the place was buzzing. And when I say buzzing, I mean it. The room is loud. Very loud and about as much a contrast from its former life as one can imagine. The rounded cutouts behind the bar with their glass shelves and rotating lights look like a "hip" restaurant designers dream from New York in the late eighties.
Our friend was waiting at the bar, drinking a decent, but too warm chianti out of a big juice glass. She'd already put our names in, and L and I looked over the wine list while the bartender buzzed about. Before we had a chance to order, though, the hostess told us our table was ready. Points for timing since L was hungry. This same, poor hostess seemed befuddled, however, when we decided to wait for our friend to pay her tab. She insisted she could just seat us, but we asked to wait a moment. Watching her intermittently over the course of the evening, it was clear she was inexperienced and looked scared.
In any case, once we were at our table, the waiter came for our drink order. The wine list was fairly basic, with wines named by grape and/or blend rather than producer. Nonetheless, the prices hovered in the low twenties for the basic chiantis and montepulcianos. When I asked the waiter to tell me about a nero and a super Tuscan, however, he admitted he knew nothing about the wines on the list. "French wine's really my thing," he added. It was a baffling comment — especially in a restaurant that purports to give you a "real" Italian experience. We punted and opted for the inexpensive montepulciano. Better to pay less for something made for quick drinking than spend the extra bucks on a good wine served at the wrong temperature.
The menu covers the gamut of expected apps and neapolitan pies. There were a few small surprises like ember-roasted eggplant and a vongole pie, but overall I felt like I could have predicted almost everything on the menu. The pastas were the only exception — a few interesting preparations — but we were here for the pizza. Ordering, we settled on the calamari fritti over the caprese and opted for a wild mushroom pie and a neapolitan pie.
Our neighbor's food came out, and considering how close the tables are, it's easy to watch what everyone else eats. Our first thought was relief for not ordering the caprese — who fries mozzarella? It just seemed wrong. The plate of calamari was flavorful but the portion was a third the size of the calamari we'd ordered at another restaurant two nights before. For the same price.
But what of the pizzas? The pizzas that the menu glorifies to high heaven. The pizzas that are supposedly certified by a governing body. The pizzas that come out of a monstrous, red-tiled woodfired oven.
Meh. They're okay. Just okay.
The wild mushroom pie came with a half-pound of arugula dumped on the pie and drizzled with balsamic, a pizza salad if you will. When I had a pie with rocket in Italy, the arugula covered the pie, but I didn't have to separate salad and pie just to eat the damn thing. Anyway, the women agreed the taste was okay, if a bit bland. My neapolitan pie had a puffy crust, but none of the crispness you hope for from the woodfired oven. Beyond that, there were four basil leaves and four anchovies decorating what was basically a margherita pie. The parmaggiano promise by the menu was nowhere to be found either. The crust had the bland watery flavor I knew to expect, but there was something missing. Something only brought back by a morsel or two of anchovy: salt.
After hearing so much about the joint, I half expected the owner to come tell us we were eating the "real thing." He was present in the dining room and boisterous with the people he knew. In the end, I ate most of the pie wishing that a touch more of the owner's grandstanding had gone into the actual care and preparation of the food.
The final tab hovered in the mid-fifties, and we tipped the minimum. With inexperienced service and mediocre food, even reasonable prices won't pull us back in there any time soon.
When we arrived, there were people spilling out the door. Even on a Sunday night, the place was buzzing. And when I say buzzing, I mean it. The room is loud. Very loud and about as much a contrast from its former life as one can imagine. The rounded cutouts behind the bar with their glass shelves and rotating lights look like a "hip" restaurant designers dream from New York in the late eighties.
Our friend was waiting at the bar, drinking a decent, but too warm chianti out of a big juice glass. She'd already put our names in, and L and I looked over the wine list while the bartender buzzed about. Before we had a chance to order, though, the hostess told us our table was ready. Points for timing since L was hungry. This same, poor hostess seemed befuddled, however, when we decided to wait for our friend to pay her tab. She insisted she could just seat us, but we asked to wait a moment. Watching her intermittently over the course of the evening, it was clear she was inexperienced and looked scared.
In any case, once we were at our table, the waiter came for our drink order. The wine list was fairly basic, with wines named by grape and/or blend rather than producer. Nonetheless, the prices hovered in the low twenties for the basic chiantis and montepulcianos. When I asked the waiter to tell me about a nero and a super Tuscan, however, he admitted he knew nothing about the wines on the list. "French wine's really my thing," he added. It was a baffling comment — especially in a restaurant that purports to give you a "real" Italian experience. We punted and opted for the inexpensive montepulciano. Better to pay less for something made for quick drinking than spend the extra bucks on a good wine served at the wrong temperature.
The menu covers the gamut of expected apps and neapolitan pies. There were a few small surprises like ember-roasted eggplant and a vongole pie, but overall I felt like I could have predicted almost everything on the menu. The pastas were the only exception — a few interesting preparations — but we were here for the pizza. Ordering, we settled on the calamari fritti over the caprese and opted for a wild mushroom pie and a neapolitan pie.
Our neighbor's food came out, and considering how close the tables are, it's easy to watch what everyone else eats. Our first thought was relief for not ordering the caprese — who fries mozzarella? It just seemed wrong. The plate of calamari was flavorful but the portion was a third the size of the calamari we'd ordered at another restaurant two nights before. For the same price.
But what of the pizzas? The pizzas that the menu glorifies to high heaven. The pizzas that are supposedly certified by a governing body. The pizzas that come out of a monstrous, red-tiled woodfired oven.
Meh. They're okay. Just okay.
The wild mushroom pie came with a half-pound of arugula dumped on the pie and drizzled with balsamic, a pizza salad if you will. When I had a pie with rocket in Italy, the arugula covered the pie, but I didn't have to separate salad and pie just to eat the damn thing. Anyway, the women agreed the taste was okay, if a bit bland. My neapolitan pie had a puffy crust, but none of the crispness you hope for from the woodfired oven. Beyond that, there were four basil leaves and four anchovies decorating what was basically a margherita pie. The parmaggiano promise by the menu was nowhere to be found either. The crust had the bland watery flavor I knew to expect, but there was something missing. Something only brought back by a morsel or two of anchovy: salt.
After hearing so much about the joint, I half expected the owner to come tell us we were eating the "real thing." He was present in the dining room and boisterous with the people he knew. In the end, I ate most of the pie wishing that a touch more of the owner's grandstanding had gone into the actual care and preparation of the food.
The final tab hovered in the mid-fifties, and we tipped the minimum. With inexperienced service and mediocre food, even reasonable prices won't pull us back in there any time soon.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Cafe Rustica Redux
As anyone who has read my notes on Richmond restaurants knows, Andy Howell's Café Rustica is among my favorite spots in the city. Compared to most restaurants of comparable pedigree, Rustica churns out consistently excellent food for better prices. I have yet to have a bad meal at the joint, even on what I would call at the time one of their "off" nights.
Tonight was decidedly not an "off" night. In fact, with a new menu debuting in the past two weeks, the kitchen seems to be revived and putting more energy into the food. (Mind you, there was no lack of energy before.) The mix of locally-sourced, reasonably-priced Continental comfort food is well-intact. From the pomodoro pie to the steak to the mediterranean short stack to the pot roast, everything that came to the table was well-prepared and delicious. Even the beet salad seemed to have gained a little extra microgreens and a little extra zing on the roasted walnuts. My only regret? That Howell took the Portuguese stew off the menu before I tried it.
The tab with a bottle of '07 Chinon Cab Franc and a glass of Rueda for L's mother? $127. With tax and tip. That's for four of us, and we all walked away sated and stuffed, wishing we had a little more room for the peanut-butter-and-jelly creme brulée or blueberry mascarpone. But back to the price: $127, after tax and a good tip. It's tough to find comparable food at that price anywhere in the city. And with a front-of-house staff that makes the place feel like home, there's little wonder it has become our go-to place.
Next step, testing the place on the kid. Then again maybe we'll keep it as a date-night secret.
Tonight was decidedly not an "off" night. In fact, with a new menu debuting in the past two weeks, the kitchen seems to be revived and putting more energy into the food. (Mind you, there was no lack of energy before.) The mix of locally-sourced, reasonably-priced Continental comfort food is well-intact. From the pomodoro pie to the steak to the mediterranean short stack to the pot roast, everything that came to the table was well-prepared and delicious. Even the beet salad seemed to have gained a little extra microgreens and a little extra zing on the roasted walnuts. My only regret? That Howell took the Portuguese stew off the menu before I tried it.
The tab with a bottle of '07 Chinon Cab Franc and a glass of Rueda for L's mother? $127. With tax and tip. That's for four of us, and we all walked away sated and stuffed, wishing we had a little more room for the peanut-butter-and-jelly creme brulée or blueberry mascarpone. But back to the price: $127, after tax and a good tip. It's tough to find comparable food at that price anywhere in the city. And with a front-of-house staff that makes the place feel like home, there's little wonder it has become our go-to place.
Next step, testing the place on the kid. Then again maybe we'll keep it as a date-night secret.
Monday, March 08, 2010
The problem with Richmond restaurants...
This weekend, we had a couple of experiences that perfectly explain my issues with so much of the Richmond restaurant scene. On Friday, my mother came into town, and L and I took advantage of the chance to have an adult meal with her while the kid was over at her mom's.
We batted around ideas like Rustica, Can Can and Coast. A few other favorites like Edo's, Balliceaux, and a few others were dropped because of expected crowds. Rustica was dropped for the same reason. The food and service at Rustica are worth a wait, but we didn't want to take the risk of a long wait. When given the choice between Can Can and Coast, my mother chose the latter for a smaller, more intimate experience. We gave a call and were told tables should be clear soon.
When we arrived, there was a party ahead of us at the bar. This wouldn't have been a problem except that Coast is very small, and two parties decided to take their sweet time after they'd paid their checks. We lingered at the bar and had the she-crab soup, which we all declared excellent, and a basket of the fresh bread. My mother and L had glasses of a nice Gruet from New Mexico. I had a Starr Hill IPA. The owner Gary came over and chatted for a bit from behind the bar. The brief wait got longer as the parties continued to linger. When we were finally seated, the owner sent over a plate of calamari to make up for the long wait. He also pulled a nice bottle of Valipolicella Ripasso for us — it wasn't on the wine list, and the price was a very reasonable $32.
When it came to our entrées, the only stumble was that they'd run out of crab cakes. Nonetheless, my mother chose the sea bass and housemade tagliatelle, and L chose the sauteed flounder with tagliatelle instead of potatoes. Both fish were perfectly done and light without being bland. I broke my usual code of not ordering things that I prepare myself and ordered the lamb chops which came a perfect medium rare, with a nice reduction drizzled over the top. For dessert, we opted for a chocolate torta with berries, and it too was right on target.
The overall tab without tip came in at $172. Not cheap, by any means, but it was an "occasion" dinner. The thing is we could easily have spent the same or more at one of Richmond's more central and popular restaurants — and come away far less satisfied. What Coast has going for it includes the quality of ingredients, the simplicity of preparation, and the professionalism of the service. What it loses is location, a problem that the owner's other restaurant solved until it was controversially shut down in November by the new building owner.
This was the high point.
The next day, we decided to do lunch out and dinner at home. After batting around a couple of options, L and I decided we'd try to make our peace with Mezzanine. Unfortunately, Mezzanine apparently changed their hours without changing their website. We decided to try Water Grill — the Richmond Restaurant Group's latest offering. The brunch menu seemed extensive and worth checking out. Once inside, we were seated in the windowed front room — so far, so good. L and I ordered an Allagash White and a Dale's Pale. The server delivered them, declaring confidently that the Dale's was the White and the White was the Pale. When I switched them, she giggled and admitted that she didn't really know the difference between the beers.
We ordered around, the kid getting french toast with sausage on the side, mom getting the crab bisque and an arugula salad, L getting a crab cake Benedict with fruit instead of home fries and an arugula salad to share with me, and a croque madame for me. The soup arrived before anything else, and while it was clear that my mother was being nice about it, the consistency was so thick as to look gelatinous. She didn't finish the bowl. The salads arrived next and were the best part of the meal. The kid's french toast arrived, as did the sausage. She was tired, though, and ate about half of the toast and a couple bites of sausage before declaring herself full. L's crab cake benedict arrived with home fries; thankfully, it tasted good so she ran with it. My croque madame was made with Texas toast that tasted as though it had been in the kitchen a couple days past its freshness date, and the white of the egg was runny when I got to the middle. The kid's sausages were also a little undercooked, which is a pity because they seemed a nice, thick maple sausage. Somewhere in the middle of the meal, the server asked me if I wanted another beer. I told her I might, and to check back with me. About ten minutes later, and as I had decided I wouldn't be getting another beer, a pint arrived.
The tab for this meal: $72. For brunch. This would seem high, even if the meal hadn't been a prime example of Richmond's restaurant mediocrity. As I've experienced with several of the RRG restaurants, not to mention other restaurants around town, the combination of preparation errors and server inexperience made the tab seem like even more of a crime.
The final restaurant experience of the weekend came at Legend Brewery. Now, Legend has struggled for years to balance quality of food and service with the quality of their beer. On the bright side, they've had the advantage of one of the few good outdoor locations in Richmond, and the deck was busy that afternoon. A busy afternoon doesn't excuse bad service, however. I ordered a Hopfest, one of their seasonals, and L asked about a sampler. The server was fidgety and said that she thought they were out of sampler glasses. Again, it was busy, but not that busy. We decided to get my beer, and L would try it to see if she liked it. The kid ordered a quesadilla and a Sprite. This is important because the kid rarely orders without prompting, but the server didn't seem to care about listening to her; she looked at us for the order.
About five minutes later, the hostess arrived with two pints of Hopfest. She looked a little sheepish when we clarified what the order was. Thankfully, L liked the Hopfest, and we were set. The server followed a few minutes later and dropped — literally dropped — the quesadilla between L and me. By this point, we were already saying how much we always wanted to like Legend. The thing is the place was messing up the simplest of things — the beer order was botched, the service was rushed and bad, and the quesadilla came without chips. When we got the server's attention and asked about the chips, she told us that chips didn't come with the quesadilla. L pointed out that the menu said kid's items came with chips, and the server said, "Well I can bring you some, but the quesadilla doesn't come with them." And she turned on her heel. In the end, we left after one beer and a light snack. The server got a $2 tip, and even that seemed too generous.
There is a difference between quick and professional and rude and unwelcoming, and this server crossed that line. Unfortunately, unprofessional and/or uneducated servers are too much the norm around Richmond restaurants. It takes so little to know how to do a job well and how to give people good service that I get more than a little frustrated when someone says a busy day is a good excuse for bad service. There is no reason a server at a restaurant where brunch can run upwards of a hundred dollars should not know which beer she's serving. Likewise, there is no reason a kitchen in such a restaurant should use stale bread and turn out undercooked items. When it comes to Legend, our poor harried server lost out on a decent tip and a higher bill by simply not caring how well she took care of her table. Whether she disliked kids or looked at us and decided we weren't worth the time, I don't know; I just know there's no excuse for such service.
Unfortunately, too often, the norm at Richmond restaurants is weak service and food that doesn't live up to the price. I've complained in the past about the lack of good, moderately-priced neighborhood restaurants where you feel welcomed and can walk away satisfied without breaking the bank. Ultimately, if I could wish one thing for the Richmond restaurant scene, it would be more restaurants like Coast and Rustica rather than more restaurants owned by the same three or four owners or more places that seem to feel like it's okay to be just good enough.
We batted around ideas like Rustica, Can Can and Coast. A few other favorites like Edo's, Balliceaux, and a few others were dropped because of expected crowds. Rustica was dropped for the same reason. The food and service at Rustica are worth a wait, but we didn't want to take the risk of a long wait. When given the choice between Can Can and Coast, my mother chose the latter for a smaller, more intimate experience. We gave a call and were told tables should be clear soon.
When we arrived, there was a party ahead of us at the bar. This wouldn't have been a problem except that Coast is very small, and two parties decided to take their sweet time after they'd paid their checks. We lingered at the bar and had the she-crab soup, which we all declared excellent, and a basket of the fresh bread. My mother and L had glasses of a nice Gruet from New Mexico. I had a Starr Hill IPA. The owner Gary came over and chatted for a bit from behind the bar. The brief wait got longer as the parties continued to linger. When we were finally seated, the owner sent over a plate of calamari to make up for the long wait. He also pulled a nice bottle of Valipolicella Ripasso for us — it wasn't on the wine list, and the price was a very reasonable $32.
When it came to our entrées, the only stumble was that they'd run out of crab cakes. Nonetheless, my mother chose the sea bass and housemade tagliatelle, and L chose the sauteed flounder with tagliatelle instead of potatoes. Both fish were perfectly done and light without being bland. I broke my usual code of not ordering things that I prepare myself and ordered the lamb chops which came a perfect medium rare, with a nice reduction drizzled over the top. For dessert, we opted for a chocolate torta with berries, and it too was right on target.
The overall tab without tip came in at $172. Not cheap, by any means, but it was an "occasion" dinner. The thing is we could easily have spent the same or more at one of Richmond's more central and popular restaurants — and come away far less satisfied. What Coast has going for it includes the quality of ingredients, the simplicity of preparation, and the professionalism of the service. What it loses is location, a problem that the owner's other restaurant solved until it was controversially shut down in November by the new building owner.
This was the high point.
The next day, we decided to do lunch out and dinner at home. After batting around a couple of options, L and I decided we'd try to make our peace with Mezzanine. Unfortunately, Mezzanine apparently changed their hours without changing their website. We decided to try Water Grill — the Richmond Restaurant Group's latest offering. The brunch menu seemed extensive and worth checking out. Once inside, we were seated in the windowed front room — so far, so good. L and I ordered an Allagash White and a Dale's Pale. The server delivered them, declaring confidently that the Dale's was the White and the White was the Pale. When I switched them, she giggled and admitted that she didn't really know the difference between the beers.
We ordered around, the kid getting french toast with sausage on the side, mom getting the crab bisque and an arugula salad, L getting a crab cake Benedict with fruit instead of home fries and an arugula salad to share with me, and a croque madame for me. The soup arrived before anything else, and while it was clear that my mother was being nice about it, the consistency was so thick as to look gelatinous. She didn't finish the bowl. The salads arrived next and were the best part of the meal. The kid's french toast arrived, as did the sausage. She was tired, though, and ate about half of the toast and a couple bites of sausage before declaring herself full. L's crab cake benedict arrived with home fries; thankfully, it tasted good so she ran with it. My croque madame was made with Texas toast that tasted as though it had been in the kitchen a couple days past its freshness date, and the white of the egg was runny when I got to the middle. The kid's sausages were also a little undercooked, which is a pity because they seemed a nice, thick maple sausage. Somewhere in the middle of the meal, the server asked me if I wanted another beer. I told her I might, and to check back with me. About ten minutes later, and as I had decided I wouldn't be getting another beer, a pint arrived.
The tab for this meal: $72. For brunch. This would seem high, even if the meal hadn't been a prime example of Richmond's restaurant mediocrity. As I've experienced with several of the RRG restaurants, not to mention other restaurants around town, the combination of preparation errors and server inexperience made the tab seem like even more of a crime.
The final restaurant experience of the weekend came at Legend Brewery. Now, Legend has struggled for years to balance quality of food and service with the quality of their beer. On the bright side, they've had the advantage of one of the few good outdoor locations in Richmond, and the deck was busy that afternoon. A busy afternoon doesn't excuse bad service, however. I ordered a Hopfest, one of their seasonals, and L asked about a sampler. The server was fidgety and said that she thought they were out of sampler glasses. Again, it was busy, but not that busy. We decided to get my beer, and L would try it to see if she liked it. The kid ordered a quesadilla and a Sprite. This is important because the kid rarely orders without prompting, but the server didn't seem to care about listening to her; she looked at us for the order.
About five minutes later, the hostess arrived with two pints of Hopfest. She looked a little sheepish when we clarified what the order was. Thankfully, L liked the Hopfest, and we were set. The server followed a few minutes later and dropped — literally dropped — the quesadilla between L and me. By this point, we were already saying how much we always wanted to like Legend. The thing is the place was messing up the simplest of things — the beer order was botched, the service was rushed and bad, and the quesadilla came without chips. When we got the server's attention and asked about the chips, she told us that chips didn't come with the quesadilla. L pointed out that the menu said kid's items came with chips, and the server said, "Well I can bring you some, but the quesadilla doesn't come with them." And she turned on her heel. In the end, we left after one beer and a light snack. The server got a $2 tip, and even that seemed too generous.
There is a difference between quick and professional and rude and unwelcoming, and this server crossed that line. Unfortunately, unprofessional and/or uneducated servers are too much the norm around Richmond restaurants. It takes so little to know how to do a job well and how to give people good service that I get more than a little frustrated when someone says a busy day is a good excuse for bad service. There is no reason a server at a restaurant where brunch can run upwards of a hundred dollars should not know which beer she's serving. Likewise, there is no reason a kitchen in such a restaurant should use stale bread and turn out undercooked items. When it comes to Legend, our poor harried server lost out on a decent tip and a higher bill by simply not caring how well she took care of her table. Whether she disliked kids or looked at us and decided we weren't worth the time, I don't know; I just know there's no excuse for such service.
Unfortunately, too often, the norm at Richmond restaurants is weak service and food that doesn't live up to the price. I've complained in the past about the lack of good, moderately-priced neighborhood restaurants where you feel welcomed and can walk away satisfied without breaking the bank. Ultimately, if I could wish one thing for the Richmond restaurant scene, it would be more restaurants like Coast and Rustica rather than more restaurants owned by the same three or four owners or more places that seem to feel like it's okay to be just good enough.
Monday, November 30, 2009
customer service — fails and wins
On our way to Dayton last week, we stopped at Tamarack outside Beckley for lunch. Tamarack is an arts center with food service by The Greenbrier, a resort outside White Sulphur Springs. It's an oasis in the land of bad travel food and cookie cutter service areas. It can also get very busy on big holiday travel days. That Wednesday was no exception.
The layout in the food service at Tamarack is poorly set up for large crowds. One entrance funnels to grill and deli lines set close to each other, and you cannot order from both lines at once. This means you need to have two people waiting in both lines if you want items from each or be willing to order on one line and then wait in another. On busy days when there are also many travelers not accustomed to the system, things can become a bit — um — delayed.
When we stopped on Wednesday, things were busy, and a man was guiding people to which line they should join. I asked him what I should do if I wanted to order in both lines but had a child with me. He took one look at us and asked whether she wanted a pizza. She did. He said he would put the order in for us so we could get in the grill line (the longer of the two). When I'd placed my order, the woman behind the counter told me we needed to wait for the pizza. Instead, our kind concierge overheard and said we could sit down; he'd bring the pizza to us.
It was a small, important gesture that made a long trip easier. Kudos to him and the rest of the staff for that moment.
************
On the flip side is our local Indian takeout/delivery joint. We've ordered from there in the past and generally had good luck. Tonight was a fail in both food and service.
Among the dishes we ordered was Vegetable Korma. On the menu, it is described as fresh vegetables in a cashew and onion sauce. L asked if they could add chickpeas to it, and they obliged. What arrived was a gloppy, creamy dish of cubed carrots, peas, and corn. The sauce wasn't bad, but it was clear that we'd gotten frozen mixed vegetables.
L was reluctant to call, but I decided it was worth it. The man remembered the order and informed me we'd gotten exactly what we'd ordered. I suggested that the vegetables should be fresh if the menu said they were fresh. He countered that they only used fresh vegetables like broccoli, cauliflower and potatoes, that they used frozen mixed vegetables for the korma. Then came the most stunning moment: he made it our fault for not asking what was in the korma. If we had asked what was in it, he would have told us and we could have ordered something else. I stammered that fresh vegetables should mean fresh vegetables and that we weren't happy with the dish. To no avail. I was informed that they had given us the chickpeas like we asked and that we should have asked what else was in the dish. This was just the way they made the korma — apparently in a topsy-turvy world where frozen really means fresh.
I won't name names here in deference to a recent note on food blogs by Brandon Fox, but suffice it to say that our local Indian takeout joint near VCU — on Main Street — will not be getting business from us again any time soon.
The layout in the food service at Tamarack is poorly set up for large crowds. One entrance funnels to grill and deli lines set close to each other, and you cannot order from both lines at once. This means you need to have two people waiting in both lines if you want items from each or be willing to order on one line and then wait in another. On busy days when there are also many travelers not accustomed to the system, things can become a bit — um — delayed.
When we stopped on Wednesday, things were busy, and a man was guiding people to which line they should join. I asked him what I should do if I wanted to order in both lines but had a child with me. He took one look at us and asked whether she wanted a pizza. She did. He said he would put the order in for us so we could get in the grill line (the longer of the two). When I'd placed my order, the woman behind the counter told me we needed to wait for the pizza. Instead, our kind concierge overheard and said we could sit down; he'd bring the pizza to us.
It was a small, important gesture that made a long trip easier. Kudos to him and the rest of the staff for that moment.
************
On the flip side is our local Indian takeout/delivery joint. We've ordered from there in the past and generally had good luck. Tonight was a fail in both food and service.
Among the dishes we ordered was Vegetable Korma. On the menu, it is described as fresh vegetables in a cashew and onion sauce. L asked if they could add chickpeas to it, and they obliged. What arrived was a gloppy, creamy dish of cubed carrots, peas, and corn. The sauce wasn't bad, but it was clear that we'd gotten frozen mixed vegetables.
L was reluctant to call, but I decided it was worth it. The man remembered the order and informed me we'd gotten exactly what we'd ordered. I suggested that the vegetables should be fresh if the menu said they were fresh. He countered that they only used fresh vegetables like broccoli, cauliflower and potatoes, that they used frozen mixed vegetables for the korma. Then came the most stunning moment: he made it our fault for not asking what was in the korma. If we had asked what was in it, he would have told us and we could have ordered something else. I stammered that fresh vegetables should mean fresh vegetables and that we weren't happy with the dish. To no avail. I was informed that they had given us the chickpeas like we asked and that we should have asked what else was in the dish. This was just the way they made the korma — apparently in a topsy-turvy world where frozen really means fresh.
I won't name names here in deference to a recent note on food blogs by Brandon Fox, but suffice it to say that our local Indian takeout joint near VCU — on Main Street — will not be getting business from us again any time soon.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The epidemic of OK.
I've been pondering the conundrum of restaurants around Richmond for a while now. L's description of her lunch yesterday at Balliceaux, the new hotspot, put a fine point on it. It was just "Okay." The falafel was overdone. The flatbread store quality. The ahi tuna on the salad cooked rather than seared. And her companion's rice/beans/pork plate piled as though it came from a cafeteria. All this from a restaurant that opened to stellar reviews just a month ago. It would be one thing if this was not the second "down" experience with the place.
On our first visit, we enjoyed a few small plates and a bottle of wine. It seemed a little pricey at $50 + tip, but not that much more than other places in town. (This is part of the problem, and I'll get back to it.) Still the crab cakes and cheese plate were excellent, and the service was good at the bar so we were willing to roll with it. Fast forward, however, a couple of weeks to our next visit. We sat at the bar again and skipped the bottle of wine, opting instead for a couple glasses apiece and entrees to follow our cheese plate. My pork belly was superb, but L's mussels were undistinguished at best. We got dessert for a friend for her birthday — a mini red velvet cake. With tax and tip, we had spent just north of $120.
Mind you, I don't intend to tear down Balliceaux. I like what they're trying to do, but it needs to be consistent from lunch to dinner. It also shouldn't feel like we're being gouged. No item on our orders was more than $17, and yet we walked away having severely nicked the month's eating-out budget. The problem is that this sort of thing — food that veers from great to just decent to downright bad and prices that jump rapidly — has become the norm in Richmond restaurants.
One of my favorite things about living in New York years ago was the abundance of little neighborhood restaurants. Often barely noticed by Zagat and other reviewers, these were the sorts of places where you could get a good meal and a bottle of wine and walk out for fifty bucks. You could spend a little more if you headed into the few higher-priced items on the menus, but still it was possible to eat well and inexpensively.
Richmond has only a few places like this. Sticking to the pastas and no appetizer, you can get out of Mamma Zu's or Edo's for that kind of money. Sharing a paella and a salad, you can almost get out of Kuba Kuba for that kind of money. A carafe and a couple of small plates at Can Can and you're still okay. And you'll eat well in any of these places. Try getting out of most other restaurants in that tier for a decent price, and it's almost impossible — unless you want to order a burger or pizza. Worse yet is the obsessive duplication of menu items around town. Worst is the fact that it's okay to be just okay. Our choices veer from glorified bar food (and, yes, there is a specific group of restaurants I'm thinking of here) to uninspired retreads of the same idea (another group of restaurants). Simply put, there's a surplus of places where you can eat middling food and get fair service and very few places where you can get great food and great service — without breaking the bank. (If price is no object and you're not looking for someplace kid-friendly, the options are wide open.)
What really bothers me, however, is that people seem to have accepted this as the norm. Richmond diners seem to have become so accustomed to fair food and Richmond restauranteurs so willing to oblige that there is little incentive for places to become better and/or introduce more reasonably priced menus.
A while back, I started to take two approaches to eating out. The first was to try things on the menu that should be consistent and good — a well-cooked steak, for instance, or crab cakes. The second approach was to order things that I would not — for whatever reason — cook for myself. If the results were good in either case, a return trip was merited. Unfortunately, I have been so often disappointed — and spent a great deal to be disappointed — that I've practically given up on the whole endeavor. After all, why spend the money if I can do better for less in my own kitchen?
It's sad, though, because I enjoy eating out. I enjoy breaking bread and being part of the community. I enjoy being given a meal that is prepared with care. Now if only we could have a few more little neighborhood joints with great and reasonably-priced food (that is not straight out of a Sysco truck), I'd be happy to put this screed aside. Food should be always be more than just okay.
On our first visit, we enjoyed a few small plates and a bottle of wine. It seemed a little pricey at $50 + tip, but not that much more than other places in town. (This is part of the problem, and I'll get back to it.) Still the crab cakes and cheese plate were excellent, and the service was good at the bar so we were willing to roll with it. Fast forward, however, a couple of weeks to our next visit. We sat at the bar again and skipped the bottle of wine, opting instead for a couple glasses apiece and entrees to follow our cheese plate. My pork belly was superb, but L's mussels were undistinguished at best. We got dessert for a friend for her birthday — a mini red velvet cake. With tax and tip, we had spent just north of $120.
Mind you, I don't intend to tear down Balliceaux. I like what they're trying to do, but it needs to be consistent from lunch to dinner. It also shouldn't feel like we're being gouged. No item on our orders was more than $17, and yet we walked away having severely nicked the month's eating-out budget. The problem is that this sort of thing — food that veers from great to just decent to downright bad and prices that jump rapidly — has become the norm in Richmond restaurants.
One of my favorite things about living in New York years ago was the abundance of little neighborhood restaurants. Often barely noticed by Zagat and other reviewers, these were the sorts of places where you could get a good meal and a bottle of wine and walk out for fifty bucks. You could spend a little more if you headed into the few higher-priced items on the menus, but still it was possible to eat well and inexpensively.
Richmond has only a few places like this. Sticking to the pastas and no appetizer, you can get out of Mamma Zu's or Edo's for that kind of money. Sharing a paella and a salad, you can almost get out of Kuba Kuba for that kind of money. A carafe and a couple of small plates at Can Can and you're still okay. And you'll eat well in any of these places. Try getting out of most other restaurants in that tier for a decent price, and it's almost impossible — unless you want to order a burger or pizza. Worse yet is the obsessive duplication of menu items around town. Worst is the fact that it's okay to be just okay. Our choices veer from glorified bar food (and, yes, there is a specific group of restaurants I'm thinking of here) to uninspired retreads of the same idea (another group of restaurants). Simply put, there's a surplus of places where you can eat middling food and get fair service and very few places where you can get great food and great service — without breaking the bank. (If price is no object and you're not looking for someplace kid-friendly, the options are wide open.)
What really bothers me, however, is that people seem to have accepted this as the norm. Richmond diners seem to have become so accustomed to fair food and Richmond restauranteurs so willing to oblige that there is little incentive for places to become better and/or introduce more reasonably priced menus.
A while back, I started to take two approaches to eating out. The first was to try things on the menu that should be consistent and good — a well-cooked steak, for instance, or crab cakes. The second approach was to order things that I would not — for whatever reason — cook for myself. If the results were good in either case, a return trip was merited. Unfortunately, I have been so often disappointed — and spent a great deal to be disappointed — that I've practically given up on the whole endeavor. After all, why spend the money if I can do better for less in my own kitchen?
It's sad, though, because I enjoy eating out. I enjoy breaking bread and being part of the community. I enjoy being given a meal that is prepared with care. Now if only we could have a few more little neighborhood joints with great and reasonably-priced food (that is not straight out of a Sysco truck), I'd be happy to put this screed aside. Food should be always be more than just okay.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
sad trombone
I'm sad to report that the 2M Mediterranean Market on Staples Mill seems to have gone drastically downhill in recent months. The business seems lackluster at best, and I've had two very weak lunches there recently.
The latest travesty involves a mediocre gyro sandwich on which I asked for hot sauce. They've had excellent chili sauce in the past. What the guy dumped on today more closely resembles mildly spicy ketchup. Between that and a guava nectar that tastes well past its prime, I'd say business and quality are flagging a bit at 2M.
It's a pity because a year ago these guys served some of the best Mediterranean dishes I've had outside of New York.
The latest travesty involves a mediocre gyro sandwich on which I asked for hot sauce. They've had excellent chili sauce in the past. What the guy dumped on today more closely resembles mildly spicy ketchup. Between that and a guava nectar that tastes well past its prime, I'd say business and quality are flagging a bit at 2M.
It's a pity because a year ago these guys served some of the best Mediterranean dishes I've had outside of New York.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Weekend notes, pt. 2 — after the show
Though slightly out of the blue and slightly off-budget, the Annie experience was surprisingly good.
We bombed out of the house with barely an hour and a half to spare before the performance. On the way, I called the box office and secured two tickets — including a half-price one for myself. We pulled up in front of Tarrant's to get a quick dinner. Tarrant's is one of those places in town that is generally reliable — sometimes very good, rarely bad — and it's location across the street from the theatre was ideal.
Service was quick and good. Buttercup was looking a little faded, but perked up when rolls appeared. I ordered a cup of the chicken and corn chowder for myself — perfect on a dreary day — and white pizza with spinach and tomatoes for us. I asked the waitress to add feta, without asking what the charge for an extra ingredient was. The question would have been a good one to ask, however, since apparently all pizzas are priced based on optional ingredients — whether they're listed as standard pies or not. The menu isn't clear about this, unfortunately, and I might have changed the order if I'd known that our $11.95 pizza was going to run $17.95 instead. Given the timing when we were asking her to box up half and bring the check, it wasn't worth saying anything; I might mention it next time though.
On a quick side note, it's also worth mentioning that the pizza was very good. The crust had a good flavor and the cheese and tomatoes were nicely done. Had I known that the spinach wouldn't be fresh, I might not have ordered it. The mushy green lent a bit too much liquid to the pie.
Dinner wrapped up, we headed across to the theatre. Theatre IV is a local theater group that puts on a few children's shows a year. They've done Peter Pan, The Wizard of Oz, and many other classics. They link in regularly with schools in the area and generally do great work. Tonight was no exception.
The sets were beautifully done, and the actors all seemed to be having a great time. This could have been last-performance bounce, but it seems more likely that they were just generally enjoying themselves. (This is only borne out by the tears streaming down the lead's face at the curtain call.) The singing and dancing were mostly very sharp. Two of the best parts: Buttercup asking if the dog was real, and her friend E asking if it was the real president up there. (For those who don't know, FDR plays a significant part in the show.) The only trick watching the show for me was getting past various anachronisms and implausibilities that are distracting, but hardly central to the story.
What also surprised me was how much of the show I remembered, and how much it touched me. Frankly, it was still a very good time when I saw Annie on its first national tour in Chicago in 1978. We were spending quite a bit of time in that city — a place I still remember very fondly — and all hell hadn't broken loose. At eight (or almost eight), the worst experiences of elementary and middle school were yet to come. My parents were still five years from telling me they were divorcing. In other words, it's a time that has deep and positive memories — the Cubs at Wrigley, Stuart Brent Books, the museums, the zoos, camping and skiing trips.
What surprised me tonight was how easily a cheesy, mawkish — albeit very catchy — libretto can pull out a whole flood of memories and associations that have laid buried for years. And how easy it is to welcome back the memories, and how much they put the present in perspective.
We bombed out of the house with barely an hour and a half to spare before the performance. On the way, I called the box office and secured two tickets — including a half-price one for myself. We pulled up in front of Tarrant's to get a quick dinner. Tarrant's is one of those places in town that is generally reliable — sometimes very good, rarely bad — and it's location across the street from the theatre was ideal.
Service was quick and good. Buttercup was looking a little faded, but perked up when rolls appeared. I ordered a cup of the chicken and corn chowder for myself — perfect on a dreary day — and white pizza with spinach and tomatoes for us. I asked the waitress to add feta, without asking what the charge for an extra ingredient was. The question would have been a good one to ask, however, since apparently all pizzas are priced based on optional ingredients — whether they're listed as standard pies or not. The menu isn't clear about this, unfortunately, and I might have changed the order if I'd known that our $11.95 pizza was going to run $17.95 instead. Given the timing when we were asking her to box up half and bring the check, it wasn't worth saying anything; I might mention it next time though.
On a quick side note, it's also worth mentioning that the pizza was very good. The crust had a good flavor and the cheese and tomatoes were nicely done. Had I known that the spinach wouldn't be fresh, I might not have ordered it. The mushy green lent a bit too much liquid to the pie.
Dinner wrapped up, we headed across to the theatre. Theatre IV is a local theater group that puts on a few children's shows a year. They've done Peter Pan, The Wizard of Oz, and many other classics. They link in regularly with schools in the area and generally do great work. Tonight was no exception.
The sets were beautifully done, and the actors all seemed to be having a great time. This could have been last-performance bounce, but it seems more likely that they were just generally enjoying themselves. (This is only borne out by the tears streaming down the lead's face at the curtain call.) The singing and dancing were mostly very sharp. Two of the best parts: Buttercup asking if the dog was real, and her friend E asking if it was the real president up there. (For those who don't know, FDR plays a significant part in the show.) The only trick watching the show for me was getting past various anachronisms and implausibilities that are distracting, but hardly central to the story.
What also surprised me was how much of the show I remembered, and how much it touched me. Frankly, it was still a very good time when I saw Annie on its first national tour in Chicago in 1978. We were spending quite a bit of time in that city — a place I still remember very fondly — and all hell hadn't broken loose. At eight (or almost eight), the worst experiences of elementary and middle school were yet to come. My parents were still five years from telling me they were divorcing. In other words, it's a time that has deep and positive memories — the Cubs at Wrigley, Stuart Brent Books, the museums, the zoos, camping and skiing trips.
What surprised me tonight was how easily a cheesy, mawkish — albeit very catchy — libretto can pull out a whole flood of memories and associations that have laid buried for years. And how easy it is to welcome back the memories, and how much they put the present in perspective.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Foodie Fail
One of the things I've enjoyed about living in Richmond is the number of excellent restaurants around town. With recent entries like Stronghill Dining Company and Café Rustica and excellent standbys like Can Can, Edo's Squid, Millie's, and many others, we don't lack for good dining options. My only quibble is that many of these places tend to run on the expensive side. While that neighborhood joint in NYC might have entrees hovering in the mid- to upper-teens, most entrees at these restaurants push the mid-twenties to thirty range. Thankfully, a number of restaurants have introduced small plates on their menus, meaning you can pull together a little more variety in a meal for the same tab as two entrees and a shared salad. The other recent development is the impact of the locavore movement on restaurants, with far more places pushing the farm-to-table model.
It was in this spirit, that we went to Mezzanine last night. Mezzanine is one of the latest entries in the RVA dining scene. The owners took over a space that had been cursed in the past and opened it up to create a pleasant, open space. They also took the local sourcing mission to heart and promised to focus the menu around locally-available ingredients and seasonal preparations. With a reasonably-priced wine list to boot, the place should be a winner.
Should be.
We were given our choice of tables upstairs. Though the space was warm and cozy, the noise levels seemed higher than they should.
Initial quirks aside, we dug into the wine list. It had a nice variety of bottles from $19 to $45+. We asked the waiter about a couple of bottles, and we went with his suggestion of the 2007 Marquee Grenache/Syrah/Mourvedre blend. It was a nice blend with flavors of all the grapes coming through — or rather that was the waiter's rather vague description of it. It was well-rounded and had enough fruit and dryness to balance much of our meal.
When it came to ordering, the waiter explained that they'd recently turned over the menu so he couldn't describe many of the items. This became a theme in our ordering. The menu offered some standard openers — the requisite beet salad, the house green salad with local greens — and a wider array of small plates and entree choices than I would have expected given their goal of sourcing locally.
There was only one strict vegetarian item on the menu — a quinoa in curry with Dave & Dee's oyster mushrooms and grilled bok choi — but L decided to go with the small plate of crab cakes instead. We opted to split the beet salad because beets, microgreens, goat cheese, and blue cheese always seem wonderful. I opted for the butternut squash and lobster bisque and then asked the waiter's recommendation between a small plate of a 5 oz. grass-fed NY Strip with a grilled onion and ginger topping and a stuffed quail over seafood jambalaya. Our waiter's response was to tell me that he hadn't had either but that he had heard more people compliment the steak than the quail. I went with the prevailing "opinion."
The food arrived with amazing speed. While I appreciate this in a lunch joint where I'm getting out for under ten bucks, I worry when the meal will quickly push a hundred bucks if my lobster bisque arrives in literally minutes of ordering. Moreover, shouldn't a bisque in a purportedly high-end restaurant come with a more imaginative side than a package of Premium Saltines? That's the kind of thing I expect from Denny's. But how was the soup? It was okay. L is not a fan of heavy cream, but she agreed it had good flavor. It had the sherry flavor you'd expect from a bisque, but the lobster and butternut squash blended together so as to become indistinguishable. Midway through the bowl, I was also left wondering where the lobster was. Even a few chunks of meat would have been enough to bring the soup from passable to good.
Minutes after the soup arrived, the beet salad arrived. The cold beet salad. So cold, in fact, that it had clearly just come out of the refrigerator. So cold, in fact, that there was almost no flavor to the beets or the goat cheese. When I mentioned it to the waiter, he said that they had assembled it ahead of time and plated it when it was ordered. As for the presentation, the beets were thick with a thin layer of goat cheese between them, a very light helping of microgreens and just a few crumbles of very pedestrian blue cheese mixed with the candied walnuts on the plate.
At this point, I was hoping for redemption. I'd heard so much about the place and still had hope that things would improve.
When my steak arrived, my first thought was that it looked like a small ribeye rather than a NY strip. On top of that, it had the curious grid pattern that some chain restaurants apply to steak to make it appear grilled. The flavor of the meat was good, but the cut was tougher than it should have been. And while it was nicely done inside, the steak itself was not hot at all. It had either been grilled ahead or sat out for a while. At this point, I was hungry enough and had seen enough of the service in the place that I didn't feel like asking them to redo the plate.
L's crab cakes were small, but nicely turned out. The waiter recommended using another plate to eat them since the serving dish didn't provide enough space for cutting without mashing them into the sauce they each sat in. The crab cakes were mostly lump crab meat with very little filler. The sauce balanced the crab flavor nicely, but still at $18 I would have expected more than three very small crab cakes.
In the end, the bill with tip came to $98.14. The meal came to a huge disappointment. I could see all the potential in the dishes and in the other menu items I saw coming out, but there were far too many missteps. All in all, Mezzanine struck me as a restaurant cutting corners and doing the minimum rather than really pushing the envelope. Perhaps it was an off night. Perhaps the nights my friends have been there, the menu was in better shape or the kitchen staff was more attentive to what they were serving. Either way, my next hundred-dollar meal is likely to be some place I am certain will make the meal worth experiencing again.
It was in this spirit, that we went to Mezzanine last night. Mezzanine is one of the latest entries in the RVA dining scene. The owners took over a space that had been cursed in the past and opened it up to create a pleasant, open space. They also took the local sourcing mission to heart and promised to focus the menu around locally-available ingredients and seasonal preparations. With a reasonably-priced wine list to boot, the place should be a winner.
Should be.
We were given our choice of tables upstairs. Though the space was warm and cozy, the noise levels seemed higher than they should.
Initial quirks aside, we dug into the wine list. It had a nice variety of bottles from $19 to $45+. We asked the waiter about a couple of bottles, and we went with his suggestion of the 2007 Marquee Grenache/Syrah/Mourvedre blend. It was a nice blend with flavors of all the grapes coming through — or rather that was the waiter's rather vague description of it. It was well-rounded and had enough fruit and dryness to balance much of our meal.
When it came to ordering, the waiter explained that they'd recently turned over the menu so he couldn't describe many of the items. This became a theme in our ordering. The menu offered some standard openers — the requisite beet salad, the house green salad with local greens — and a wider array of small plates and entree choices than I would have expected given their goal of sourcing locally.
There was only one strict vegetarian item on the menu — a quinoa in curry with Dave & Dee's oyster mushrooms and grilled bok choi — but L decided to go with the small plate of crab cakes instead. We opted to split the beet salad because beets, microgreens, goat cheese, and blue cheese always seem wonderful. I opted for the butternut squash and lobster bisque and then asked the waiter's recommendation between a small plate of a 5 oz. grass-fed NY Strip with a grilled onion and ginger topping and a stuffed quail over seafood jambalaya. Our waiter's response was to tell me that he hadn't had either but that he had heard more people compliment the steak than the quail. I went with the prevailing "opinion."
The food arrived with amazing speed. While I appreciate this in a lunch joint where I'm getting out for under ten bucks, I worry when the meal will quickly push a hundred bucks if my lobster bisque arrives in literally minutes of ordering. Moreover, shouldn't a bisque in a purportedly high-end restaurant come with a more imaginative side than a package of Premium Saltines? That's the kind of thing I expect from Denny's. But how was the soup? It was okay. L is not a fan of heavy cream, but she agreed it had good flavor. It had the sherry flavor you'd expect from a bisque, but the lobster and butternut squash blended together so as to become indistinguishable. Midway through the bowl, I was also left wondering where the lobster was. Even a few chunks of meat would have been enough to bring the soup from passable to good.
Minutes after the soup arrived, the beet salad arrived. The cold beet salad. So cold, in fact, that it had clearly just come out of the refrigerator. So cold, in fact, that there was almost no flavor to the beets or the goat cheese. When I mentioned it to the waiter, he said that they had assembled it ahead of time and plated it when it was ordered. As for the presentation, the beets were thick with a thin layer of goat cheese between them, a very light helping of microgreens and just a few crumbles of very pedestrian blue cheese mixed with the candied walnuts on the plate.
At this point, I was hoping for redemption. I'd heard so much about the place and still had hope that things would improve.
When my steak arrived, my first thought was that it looked like a small ribeye rather than a NY strip. On top of that, it had the curious grid pattern that some chain restaurants apply to steak to make it appear grilled. The flavor of the meat was good, but the cut was tougher than it should have been. And while it was nicely done inside, the steak itself was not hot at all. It had either been grilled ahead or sat out for a while. At this point, I was hungry enough and had seen enough of the service in the place that I didn't feel like asking them to redo the plate.
L's crab cakes were small, but nicely turned out. The waiter recommended using another plate to eat them since the serving dish didn't provide enough space for cutting without mashing them into the sauce they each sat in. The crab cakes were mostly lump crab meat with very little filler. The sauce balanced the crab flavor nicely, but still at $18 I would have expected more than three very small crab cakes.
In the end, the bill with tip came to $98.14. The meal came to a huge disappointment. I could see all the potential in the dishes and in the other menu items I saw coming out, but there were far too many missteps. All in all, Mezzanine struck me as a restaurant cutting corners and doing the minimum rather than really pushing the envelope. Perhaps it was an off night. Perhaps the nights my friends have been there, the menu was in better shape or the kitchen staff was more attentive to what they were serving. Either way, my next hundred-dollar meal is likely to be some place I am certain will make the meal worth experiencing again.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
note to self...
Most Chinese takeout food tastes the same, whether it's Richmond or Fayetteville or Bloomington. I don't know why I even bother any more. It's not like I'm ever really satisfied by looking at the same menu again, or like anything I eat remotely resembles the real stuff I ate while traveling in China. (A special exception is in Charlottesville. Then again, they only serve dumplings, buns, noodles and soup.)
Days like this make me miss living in New York and Boston. Just saying...
(Shot borrowed from here.)
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Pho Tay Do
Just took a longish lunch at one of our local pho places. What distinguishes this one — besides the fact that I haven't been able to locate it with Google Maps — is that it is in a small house one street off the Horsepen corridor, a small house decorated with fascinating artwork painted by what I can only assume is one of the owners.
The food, however, is excellent, and the crowd is small and almost exclusively Vietnamese.
Friday, May 16, 2008
richmond eats - 2M Mediterranean Market
The northside of Richmond has never been an area I knew particularly well, but since beginning the new gig, I've been investigating the eating options up here. Fortunately there are a few that step beyond the usual chain fare. One in particular that popped up on my radar is 2M Mediterranean Market & Deli. It's a dive-y little place in a dive-y little strip mall. Richmonders will know it as the one on Staples Mill with the old Ukrops—in this town, the local Ukrops grocery store chain offers constant landmarks.
All dive-y character aside, the food that the Bosnian owner turns out is excellent. The kefta and lamb shawarma are excellent, served on long flatbread with excellent tahini, pickles and the usual lettuce and tomato. His gyro is a little smaller, though still a good portion. So far, only the falafel has been less than exceptional. I'm a fan of freshly made and fried falafel, like the crispy nuggets I used to gorge on in New York. Anyway, his falafel are made in the morning and reheated as needed. As a result, they're dried out a bit and don't quite sparkle with garlic and parsley the way they should His hummus and tabouleh, however, are stellar. the taboulleh is full of fresh parsley and lemon, and the hummus was so good Banana scarfed it down when I brought some home. Good stuff.
On the wall above the register are the usual series of glowing local reviews. One of which mentioned that the owner was planning to open a "real" restaurant soon. I asked him about it, and his answer was "not so soon. Too expensive, you know." Indeed. Thankfully, his current business is still doing well, and considering the amount of food for the money, it's definitely not too expensive.
All dive-y character aside, the food that the Bosnian owner turns out is excellent. The kefta and lamb shawarma are excellent, served on long flatbread with excellent tahini, pickles and the usual lettuce and tomato. His gyro is a little smaller, though still a good portion. So far, only the falafel has been less than exceptional. I'm a fan of freshly made and fried falafel, like the crispy nuggets I used to gorge on in New York. Anyway, his falafel are made in the morning and reheated as needed. As a result, they're dried out a bit and don't quite sparkle with garlic and parsley the way they should His hummus and tabouleh, however, are stellar. the taboulleh is full of fresh parsley and lemon, and the hummus was so good Banana scarfed it down when I brought some home. Good stuff.
On the wall above the register are the usual series of glowing local reviews. One of which mentioned that the owner was planning to open a "real" restaurant soon. I asked him about it, and his answer was "not so soon. Too expensive, you know." Indeed. Thankfully, his current business is still doing well, and considering the amount of food for the money, it's definitely not too expensive.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Freddie the Frog
For the next week, Banana and I are responsible for Freddie the Frog. It is our sworn duty to care well for the frog and show him an exciting week. And that week must be documented in a journal.
We decided to start Freddie's week off right. He went with us and two other families to Carytown Sushi for dinner. While the kids ate their edamame, age tofu, and sashimi, Freddie went to town with insect gyoza and grasshopper rolls. He also held his own with a couple glasses of unfiltered sake.
Even though it was already pushing nine o'clock on a school night, we decided to carry on the welcome party next door at Bev's Ice Cream. The kids put away Richmond's best ice cream, and Freddie shared Banana's mint chocolate chip.
Unfortunately, Bev's does not put food coloring in their ice cream which kept the ice cream from matching the frog.
**********
UPDATE: I will be cross-posting at Freddie's very own blog. Time for this frog to go high tech. Maybe we'll even go Twitter and Facebook next!
We decided to start Freddie's week off right. He went with us and two other families to Carytown Sushi for dinner. While the kids ate their edamame, age tofu, and sashimi, Freddie went to town with insect gyoza and grasshopper rolls. He also held his own with a couple glasses of unfiltered sake.
Even though it was already pushing nine o'clock on a school night, we decided to carry on the welcome party next door at Bev's Ice Cream. The kids put away Richmond's best ice cream, and Freddie shared Banana's mint chocolate chip.
Unfortunately, Bev's does not put food coloring in their ice cream which kept the ice cream from matching the frog.
**********
UPDATE: I will be cross-posting at Freddie's very own blog. Time for this frog to go high tech. Maybe we'll even go Twitter and Facebook next!
Saturday, March 29, 2008
New York notes
I'd been planning to write a much longer, more detailed account of the trip back to the city, but apparently I can only find so much space and time for writing these days. A few choice notes and comments will have to suffice.
- The MoMA, post renovation. First, many thanks to Bonnie for arranging tickets for Banana and me. I don't think I've been back to the museum since I moved away, which means this was my first chance to see the rebuilt institution. The architectural work is remarkable, from opening up the galleries to creating some truly breathtaking public spaces in the common area. The place is still over-run by tourists and far too crowded, but that's a problem common to any of the major museums in the city. In any case, it is a pleasure to see the permanent exhibitions given more room to breathe, and the placement of Matisse's "Dance" is memorable. The special exhibition Design and the Elastic Mind seemed like it would be fascinating, but it wasn't as kid-friendly as I'd hoped and the crowds made it feel absurdly claustrophobic. It's a pity, though, because it looked truly cool. The other special exhibition—Color Chart—was a little more kid-friendly, however, and Banana and I sat for a while in front of the Rothkos, talking about the different colors he was using.
- Street corner falafel. This was my first stop after we got off the train in midtown. Falafel. With everything. Bliss, pure and simple.
- Brunch at The Farm on Adderley. When I lived in Brooklyn, Ditmas Park was still the boonies to all of us who were moving out to the boro. Or rather that's to say that it wasn't over-run by those of us who shop at organic markets and push our kids around in MacLarens—or newer, hipper strollers. Now, the neighborhoods have begun to shift and businesses catering to the Park Slope/Cobble Hill spillover have started to open, including restaurants like The Farm on Adderly. Just a couple of blocks from the Cortelyou Road train station, this place sources most of its ingredients locally, knows how to cater to families (the kids food comes first and quickly!), and serves very, very tasty fare to what seems to be a sizable foodie population. Their bloody mary was among the best I've ever had, and the poached egg with smoked trout and greens served on a potato latke was a near-perfect brunch item. Not that that quite takes the sting out of Banana's $8 hot dog—but, hey, it was organic...
- Brooklyn dads. There's a uniform: sneakers (Converse or Vans, preferably), cool jeans or cords, layered t-shirts (either graphic, basic black, or ring-neck), v-neck or zip-collar sweater. It was one more small way I still feel more at home there than I do in Richmond.
- Franny's redux. Saturday night, we gave Banana the choice of what she wanted for dinner. She said pizza, and Amy, Victoria, Banana, and I trotted over to Franny's to continue the locavore theme of the day. It was also the scene of one of our more remarkable meals on last year's visit. Ordinarily, I would break out and try new things, but I've dreamed of the clam pie I had last year. The crust is perfectly thin and crispy coming out of the brick oven. The pie itself has a few clams on it, some parsley, and some crushed chili. What makes it remarkable, however, is the preparation: they saute the clams in butter in white wine and brush the crust with the liquid from the saute before it goes in the oven. The result is one of the near-perfect dishes ever. The margherita with fresh buffalo mozzarella is damn good, too. So are the wood-roasted olives. And the wine... sigh...
- The Prospect Park Zoo.In the years I lived on the other side of the park, I never ventured into the zoo. At that time, it was still trying to be a full-service zoo of some sort. After the WCS began to consolidate the zoos and aquarium, the mission became more focused on being a small, family-friendly place. They've achieved this, providing good proximity to the animals and a fun sea lion show. More importantly, they have a baby kangaroo, and it's pretty damn cute.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
homecomings, pt. 1
Last year, I wrote about returning to Piccolo Angolo after a long absence. Rather than leaving things to chance this year, my friend Amy made reservations a couple weeks in advance for dinner on the day Banana and I would get in town.
When Banana and I got to the restaurant early—a shocker for anyone who's known me long enough, Renato gave us our choice of tables. The head waiter shook my hand. Renato fawned over Banana, and his daughter was over in a minute to talk to her. She reiterated that we should move back to the city so Banana could grow up in New York. A bottle of wine arrived. Soon enough, Amy and Victoria had arrived, and the treatment continued. Pasta for Banana arrived soon, so did a heaping basket of bread. The Tre Colore salad, when it arrived, had grown since the years I spent regular time at the restaurant—not necessarily a bad thing.
Not long after Anna finished her pasta, her dessert appeared—chocolate gelato. When the rest of us ordered dessert, Renato decided we needed his tiramisu. It was lighter and more fluffy—not nearly as sweet—than any I've ever had. The fresh berry cheesecake was also a revelation—and a double helping.
In the end, as always, the return meal at Piccolo was the best possible welcome back to the city. Stay tuned for comments on MoMA, falafel, more food, and parents in Brooklyn.
When Banana and I got to the restaurant early—a shocker for anyone who's known me long enough, Renato gave us our choice of tables. The head waiter shook my hand. Renato fawned over Banana, and his daughter was over in a minute to talk to her. She reiterated that we should move back to the city so Banana could grow up in New York. A bottle of wine arrived. Soon enough, Amy and Victoria had arrived, and the treatment continued. Pasta for Banana arrived soon, so did a heaping basket of bread. The Tre Colore salad, when it arrived, had grown since the years I spent regular time at the restaurant—not necessarily a bad thing.
Not long after Anna finished her pasta, her dessert appeared—chocolate gelato. When the rest of us ordered dessert, Renato decided we needed his tiramisu. It was lighter and more fluffy—not nearly as sweet—than any I've ever had. The fresh berry cheesecake was also a revelation—and a double helping.
In the end, as always, the return meal at Piccolo was the best possible welcome back to the city. Stay tuned for comments on MoMA, falafel, more food, and parents in Brooklyn.
Friday, October 26, 2007
trying, but not there yet
For my day-after-birthday dinner, my Dad, his wife Cathy and their little girl D took Banana and me out for dinner. I'd suggested Northside Grille, one of two new restaurants on Richmond's North Side, and a place that has gotten some pretty good press of late. It is also billed as a very kid-friendly restaurant, and was convenient to where they would be anyway.
Walking in, I was impressed by the room. It's wide-open, with jumbo-sized booths lining either wall, and a U-shaped bar taking up the center of the room. Business seemed brisk, even though it was early on a rainy evening. Many of the tables were occupied by families, and the noise level was manageable. So far, so good.
Then the service started. It took several minutes before our server appeared. When she appeared, everything about her demeanor said she wasn't go to bring much sunshine to the table. She took the drink orders briskly--dad and Cathy each ordered from their wine list, which was moderately priced and had some fairly interesting wines by the glass. I asked what the seasonal tap was, and was a little bummed to hear that it was the Sam Adams Winter Ale. We're not even out of October, for crying out loud. Anyway, her irritation grew as I went back to the menu to figure out what I wanted. Not a good start.
We took a while to order, which can be irritating for servers. Still, she made no further efforts at helping us, and in fact seemed a bit frustrated when we asked about the specials. The way she kept glancing out the window, you'd think she had far better things to do than wait on us. Had I been picking up the tab, her tip would have dropped below 15 percent already.
When we did order, the adults all got Roasted Red Pepper soup. It was a hit--freshly made and with just enough spice to cut through a chilly evening. Things went down hill when the rest of the food arrived, however. Cathy had ordered a cheese quesadilla for D, but what came out was a full-on chicken and bean quesadilla, not exactly six-year old-friendly. The manager was quick to take care of the problem, however. Dad's burger was large and tasty. Cathy's salad was fine. For my entree, however, I had ordered the pork chops--"grilled and topped with caramelized peaches and a balsamic drizzle"--which sounded good, and about which I had read a good review. Instead of caramelized peaches, however, the line cook had put some canned peaches on top of the chops. The balsamic drizzle was nowhere to be seen, either. The sides--roasted red potatoes and grilled slices of zucchini and yellow squash--were good, but lukewarm. The chops were tough and seemed to have been cooked before being tossed on the grill for a quick bit of flame. Had our window for dinner been longer, I would have sent the plate back. It was mediocre at best, and certainly not worth $16. It's sad, really, because I had been looking forward to the meal.
The Northside Grille hasn't lost me yet. The place is kid-friendly and smoke-free, two big pluses. Clearly they need to even out their work in the kitchen. It would also be great to see them pull something out that doesn't seem like pure Sysco products. Several other restaurants in the area do--the Mamma Zu's empire, for example--and it would be nice to see this place differentiate itself from other cookie-cutter places by offering more than a stock menu and a smoke-free atmosphere.
Walking in, I was impressed by the room. It's wide-open, with jumbo-sized booths lining either wall, and a U-shaped bar taking up the center of the room. Business seemed brisk, even though it was early on a rainy evening. Many of the tables were occupied by families, and the noise level was manageable. So far, so good.
Then the service started. It took several minutes before our server appeared. When she appeared, everything about her demeanor said she wasn't go to bring much sunshine to the table. She took the drink orders briskly--dad and Cathy each ordered from their wine list, which was moderately priced and had some fairly interesting wines by the glass. I asked what the seasonal tap was, and was a little bummed to hear that it was the Sam Adams Winter Ale. We're not even out of October, for crying out loud. Anyway, her irritation grew as I went back to the menu to figure out what I wanted. Not a good start.
We took a while to order, which can be irritating for servers. Still, she made no further efforts at helping us, and in fact seemed a bit frustrated when we asked about the specials. The way she kept glancing out the window, you'd think she had far better things to do than wait on us. Had I been picking up the tab, her tip would have dropped below 15 percent already.
When we did order, the adults all got Roasted Red Pepper soup. It was a hit--freshly made and with just enough spice to cut through a chilly evening. Things went down hill when the rest of the food arrived, however. Cathy had ordered a cheese quesadilla for D, but what came out was a full-on chicken and bean quesadilla, not exactly six-year old-friendly. The manager was quick to take care of the problem, however. Dad's burger was large and tasty. Cathy's salad was fine. For my entree, however, I had ordered the pork chops--"grilled and topped with caramelized peaches and a balsamic drizzle"--which sounded good, and about which I had read a good review. Instead of caramelized peaches, however, the line cook had put some canned peaches on top of the chops. The balsamic drizzle was nowhere to be seen, either. The sides--roasted red potatoes and grilled slices of zucchini and yellow squash--were good, but lukewarm. The chops were tough and seemed to have been cooked before being tossed on the grill for a quick bit of flame. Had our window for dinner been longer, I would have sent the plate back. It was mediocre at best, and certainly not worth $16. It's sad, really, because I had been looking forward to the meal.
The Northside Grille hasn't lost me yet. The place is kid-friendly and smoke-free, two big pluses. Clearly they need to even out their work in the kitchen. It would also be great to see them pull something out that doesn't seem like pure Sysco products. Several other restaurants in the area do--the Mamma Zu's empire, for example--and it would be nice to see this place differentiate itself from other cookie-cutter places by offering more than a stock menu and a smoke-free atmosphere.
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