Staying at La Torretta Lake Resort & Spa in Montgomery TX is like writing on this blog: no visitors.
Here is my review for TripAdvisor.
Sure, I could have gone on about how inconvenienced the dude serving us at the 19th hole was to have to fetch my mom's tea from the next building over (i.e., a minute walk that should have been transparent to us, his few guests), not to mention the fact that her tea never arrived until we were leaving almost an hour later, and what a buffoon the dude was in general (and he was training the new hire?!) but I erred on the side of just simply narrating a few of the mishaps.
It was such a wonderful trip overall, I thought, why wax on about one ill-fated lunch?
But I did forget to mention one thing: the fact that the kids could jump over the side of infinity pool to the larger pool below.
"Please, can we??"
"Sure, but wait until Grannie isn't around."
Showing posts with label review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label review. Show all posts
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Hit the Road Jack
In news that rivals the pure excitement of our unplanned tour of Jamaica (Queens) last February, my reviews of our two back-to-back hotel stays in Binghamton, or more accurately, Vestal NY, are now posted on TripAdvisor.
First stop: The Courtyard by Marriott
Second stop: The Holiday Inn Express
The thrill never ends.
First stop: The Courtyard by Marriott
Second stop: The Holiday Inn Express
The thrill never ends.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Photo Per Day #14: Shufflin' Off
Our first stop yesterday, after hitting the Walden Galleria to return some boots, was Buffalo's Anchor Bar: original home of the chicken wing. In the Treacy and Wiersema value disciplines model, they've embraced a product leadership go-to-market strategy.
Operational efficiency, not so much. The place, pre-Sabres game, was jam jam jam packed. The wait for a table? An hour and a half. We headed to the bar where we found a place by the wall to stand and ordered two beers and 10 medium chicken wings. The wait for our wings? Somewhere between 45 and 60 minutes.
Customer intimacy, not a prayer. Over the loudspeaker, we would hear, "Jumby, party of 15, let us know if you're still here."
But the chicken wings were perfect. Crunchy and delicious. I would definitely go back but next time, I'll go earlier. Or not on a game day.
Operational efficiency, not so much. The place, pre-Sabres game, was jam jam jam packed. The wait for a table? An hour and a half. We headed to the bar where we found a place by the wall to stand and ordered two beers and 10 medium chicken wings. The wait for our wings? Somewhere between 45 and 60 minutes.
Customer intimacy, not a prayer. Over the loudspeaker, we would hear, "Jumby, party of 15, let us know if you're still here."
But the chicken wings were perfect. Crunchy and delicious. I would definitely go back but next time, I'll go earlier. Or not on a game day.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Rated M for Mature
I originally intended to pepper this f*ing post with f-bombs as a tribute to last night's f*ing awesome Green Day show but I can barely f*ing stomach it thus far. So . . . f* that.
For the longest time, I thought I was the sole American idiot who would take an eight year old boy to Green Day. Little did I know, there are thousands of like families in this region alone. Preppy moms with kids in tow. Rocker parents with a litter of young rockers. Dads holding babies. I was not alone. The littlegirl boy in the row in front of us, possibly six years old, had hair down to his waist and spent the entire show playing air guitar and making amazing jumps like a tiny Angus Young. (Funny for the first five minutes. Not quite so endearing thereafter.)
Family friendly indeed. It was like spending the night at Disney World but Mickey and Minnie had been replaced with Ren & Stimpy. Come on kids, let's get drunk and have some fun. F* your parents. F* your teachers. (I kept putting my hands over Son #2's ears. Please, for the love of God, don't f* your parents or teachers.)
Not that any of this was surprising. When you've become famous for your angst-riddled, new generation, anti-war, Sex Pistols-like persona, then you didn't sign up to be a Boy Scout role model. I get it. But f* you anyhow, there are children here.
In addition to the families and expected teens, there was a large number of older couples surrounding us. And by "older," I mean in their late sixties/early seventies. The couple in front of us pounded beer after beer and danced the night away like old folks at a wedding. I was hoping there was a defibrillator nearby just in case the ol' ticker gave way. The tea-totaling, straight-faced, American Gothic couple next to us looked like they put their bong down at Woodstock and became organic farmers in the decades since. The most unlikely Green Day fans ever.
Regardless of where you were in the Green Day fan base bimodal distribution, the f* bombs were a bit much. Asking a 12 year old boy if he'd f*ed a woman yet? The poor kid was probably with his mom. Um, awkward. Introducing Mike Dirnt, the bass player, by telling us he has a huge cock? Come on. He probably already gets laid enough. Unnecessary. The dude next to me kept rolling his eyes. I hear ya Gramps. But in all fairness, this is Green Day (not Doris).
With all that behind me, I have to say, Green Day was a fan-f*ing-tastic live show. Just a great, great time like the rock and roll concerts from my childhood where the music, not the theatrics, was front-and-center. Unlike The Pixies and Weezer, these guys played their hearts out -- for three full hours -- throughout which lead singer Billie Joe Armstrong made comments like "We appreciate that you spent your hard-earned money to come to see us and we're going to give you the show of a lifetime" and "It's an honor to play for you tonight." And I honestly think he meant it. Bless his fuzzy, warm heart.
When it comes to audience engagement, they have all other bands beat. They brought everyone from the pit onto the stage to dance, the previously mentioned boy on stage to sing, and later three audience members (i.e., drummer, bass player and chick guitarist) to play a song. It must have been the dream of a lifetime for these kids -- especially when they told the girl keep her guitar. The crowd went insane.
Actually, the crowd went wild all night long. Like Pavlov's dogs, we collectively waved our arms in the air every time Billie Joe shouted, "get your arms up there." Yeah, how anti-establishment are we now? Punk anarchists who follow the rules. Go figure. He also threw out a gazillion crowd-thrilling references to Buffalo apparently not knowing that he was playing in a giant field between our two fair cities. (Somewhat presciently, he knows that the Bill's are going to win the Superbowl this year. Get your wagers ready.) He even gave a shout out to the Canadians in the crowd. Judging by the cheers, and license plates in the parking lot, this comprised maybe a quarter of the audience. But he only gave a few, lame shout outs to us in short, namby pamby "Buffalo and surrounding areas" references. Yea! That's me! Surrounding area! (I've decided that we need a strong Buffalo, Rochester, Canada coin phrase. I just can't determine what it should be. BuffaCanaRoch? Delightful.)
In a bizarre twist, when introducing musician Jason Freese, the crowd cheered like crazy. When Billie Joe followed up to say he used to play with the Goo Goo Dolls, there was an odd silence. Here in the epicenter of the Goo Goo Doll Nation, clearly no one gave a s*^t. This begs the question, are the audiences for both bands that divergent? My answer: who cares. (Or, more appropriately, who gives a f*ing s*&^?)
They played a million of their hits; so many that I cannot even begin to list them here. Songs from their new album interspersed with old school hits from the early '90s. Oh and what else you might ask? Introductory chords from songs like Iron Man, Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love, Sweet Child of Mine and Highway to Hell. Great fun. Huge crowd pleasers. We even sang the chorus to Hey Jude. Wasn't expecting that . . .
To add icing on the cake, when the lad and I were leaving the venue, a guy from the Green Day crew stopped us and handed Son #2 Tré Cool's drumstick. OMG, you should have seen his face. It was the perfect ending to an (almost) perfect show.
So thanks to my little man for taking me to Green Day. I would never, ever, ever have chosen to go to see this band on my own but I'm extremely grateful for the experience. They are true rock n' roll musicians and amazing, crowd-pleasing performers.
For the longest time, I thought I was the sole American idiot who would take an eight year old boy to Green Day. Little did I know, there are thousands of like families in this region alone. Preppy moms with kids in tow. Rocker parents with a litter of young rockers. Dads holding babies. I was not alone. The little
Family friendly indeed. It was like spending the night at Disney World but Mickey and Minnie had been replaced with Ren & Stimpy. Come on kids, let's get drunk and have some fun. F* your parents. F* your teachers. (I kept putting my hands over Son #2's ears. Please, for the love of God, don't f* your parents or teachers.)
Not that any of this was surprising. When you've become famous for your angst-riddled, new generation, anti-war, Sex Pistols-like persona, then you didn't sign up to be a Boy Scout role model. I get it. But f* you anyhow, there are children here.
In addition to the families and expected teens, there was a large number of older couples surrounding us. And by "older," I mean in their late sixties/early seventies. The couple in front of us pounded beer after beer and danced the night away like old folks at a wedding. I was hoping there was a defibrillator nearby just in case the ol' ticker gave way. The tea-totaling, straight-faced, American Gothic couple next to us looked like they put their bong down at Woodstock and became organic farmers in the decades since. The most unlikely Green Day fans ever.
Regardless of where you were in the Green Day fan base bimodal distribution, the f* bombs were a bit much. Asking a 12 year old boy if he'd f*ed a woman yet? The poor kid was probably with his mom. Um, awkward. Introducing Mike Dirnt, the bass player, by telling us he has a huge cock? Come on. He probably already gets laid enough. Unnecessary. The dude next to me kept rolling his eyes. I hear ya Gramps. But in all fairness, this is Green Day (not Doris).
With all that behind me, I have to say, Green Day was a fan-f*ing-tastic live show. Just a great, great time like the rock and roll concerts from my childhood where the music, not the theatrics, was front-and-center. Unlike The Pixies and Weezer, these guys played their hearts out -- for three full hours -- throughout which lead singer Billie Joe Armstrong made comments like "We appreciate that you spent your hard-earned money to come to see us and we're going to give you the show of a lifetime" and "It's an honor to play for you tonight." And I honestly think he meant it. Bless his fuzzy, warm heart.
When it comes to audience engagement, they have all other bands beat. They brought everyone from the pit onto the stage to dance, the previously mentioned boy on stage to sing, and later three audience members (i.e., drummer, bass player and chick guitarist) to play a song. It must have been the dream of a lifetime for these kids -- especially when they told the girl keep her guitar. The crowd went insane.
Actually, the crowd went wild all night long. Like Pavlov's dogs, we collectively waved our arms in the air every time Billie Joe shouted, "get your arms up there." Yeah, how anti-establishment are we now? Punk anarchists who follow the rules. Go figure. He also threw out a gazillion crowd-thrilling references to Buffalo apparently not knowing that he was playing in a giant field between our two fair cities. (Somewhat presciently, he knows that the Bill's are going to win the Superbowl this year. Get your wagers ready.) He even gave a shout out to the Canadians in the crowd. Judging by the cheers, and license plates in the parking lot, this comprised maybe a quarter of the audience. But he only gave a few, lame shout outs to us in short, namby pamby "Buffalo and surrounding areas" references. Yea! That's me! Surrounding area! (I've decided that we need a strong Buffalo, Rochester, Canada coin phrase. I just can't determine what it should be. BuffaCanaRoch? Delightful.)
In a bizarre twist, when introducing musician Jason Freese, the crowd cheered like crazy. When Billie Joe followed up to say he used to play with the Goo Goo Dolls, there was an odd silence. Here in the epicenter of the Goo Goo Doll Nation, clearly no one gave a s*^t. This begs the question, are the audiences for both bands that divergent? My answer: who cares. (Or, more appropriately, who gives a f*ing s*&^?)
They played a million of their hits; so many that I cannot even begin to list them here. Songs from their new album interspersed with old school hits from the early '90s. Oh and what else you might ask? Introductory chords from songs like Iron Man, Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love, Sweet Child of Mine and Highway to Hell. Great fun. Huge crowd pleasers. We even sang the chorus to Hey Jude. Wasn't expecting that . . .
To add icing on the cake, when the lad and I were leaving the venue, a guy from the Green Day crew stopped us and handed Son #2 Tré Cool's drumstick. OMG, you should have seen his face. It was the perfect ending to an (almost) perfect show.
So thanks to my little man for taking me to Green Day. I would never, ever, ever have chosen to go to see this band on my own but I'm extremely grateful for the experience. They are true rock n' roll musicians and amazing, crowd-pleasing performers.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Dump and Dumper(er)
Thanks to JetBlue, we had the honor and privilege of taking a three-day tour of Jamaica! And by Jamaica, I mean Queens, of course. Is there any other?
So, of course, I had to write my reviews on TripAdvisor. I'm a sucker for giving feedback.
In case you're ever stuck at JFK, I would recommend:
Since I intend to drive everywhere I go from now on, I hope never to step foot in any of these hotels again.
It's a holiday in(n) Jamaica; it's tough kid but it's life . . .
So, of course, I had to write my reviews on TripAdvisor. I'm a sucker for giving feedback.
In case you're ever stuck at JFK, I would recommend:
- The pool at the Hilton Garden Inn, if you're with kids
- The cleanliness and up-to-date features of the Doubletree Hotel, if you value normalcy
- Nothing at the Holiday Inn Express. Actually, they had some bright, colorful paintings of Manhattan on the walls. So if you choose your hotel based on artwork, this dive hotel comes highly recommended. Also, we discovered this too late but, their take-out drivers will pick up booze, if needed. (And it's needed.)
Since I intend to drive everywhere I go from now on, I hope never to step foot in any of these hotels again.
It's a holiday in(n) Jamaica; it's tough kid but it's life . . .
Monday, March 15, 2010
The Best of Travel with Kids
TripAdvisor just posted my review of Turtle Beach Barbados. It sounds a bit negative because I’m comparing it with other recent all-inclusive experiences but we really had a fabulous time (JetBlue aside).
I think combining all of our trips into one amazing hotel experience would be fun—preferably within driving distance. To do this, we would take the best of the best from each which brings me to . . .
The Night Sweats' Best of All-inclusive Travel with Kiddies Awards (2004-2010)
1. Majestic Colonial, Punta Cana
I think combining all of our trips into one amazing hotel experience would be fun—preferably within driving distance. To do this, we would take the best of the best from each which brings me to . . .
The Night Sweats' Best of All-inclusive Travel with Kiddies Awards (2004-2010)
1. Majestic Colonial, Punta Cana
- Meandering pool snaking throughout property
- Top-notch food
- Elegant lobby and premises
- Miles of walk-able beaches
- Sweet little church on site
- Sauna-like pool
- Tons and tons of kids; very family friendly
- Fun kiddie cocktails
- Club Nitro kids’ disco
- Flea market next door
- Convenience from airport
- Pool with tall, fun slides
- Ocean facing room with lanai
- X-box game room
- Calm, warm ocean for kids
- Safe island
- Kids’ Club
- Nothing (I repeat, nothing)
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
In a Nutshell: Simple Book Reviews
It's so difficult to be back behind my desk after such a fabulous week (Thanks Mom!) of 88 degree weather, sunshine, rum punch, swimming, snuggling, ping pong, learning to scuba dive (in a pool!), attempting to play tennis with little kids and stuffing our faces with food. Must go right back.
Can you drive to Barbados?
Instead, I must find peace at home.
At the end of mass last weekend, my mom's priest gave an announcement that they were selling the book My Life with the Saints for $10. Strange, that's exactly the recommended reading from Coffee Toast Milk Jam. My mom bought two! Can't wait to start reading tonight.
In preparation, for whatever reason extremely foreign to my normal behavior, I decided I shouldn't start another book until I had finished the three I was working on. So I did. Following are my two-second book reviews.
Reading Jesus by Mary Gordon: Interesting take on reading the Gospels from a Catholic who had never picked them up before. The author poses a lot of great questions about seemingly contradictory Bible passages; however, a little more probing prior to publishing her book may have answered some of the questions. I ain't no Biblical scholar but some of them seemed fairly easy to comprehend. For example, in thinking about the Prodigal Son's brother who gets screwed out of his possessions (including his fatted calf) when his drinking/whoring brother returns home and their dad throws a big party, she cries "unfair." Exactly. But she doesn't fully explore the greater meaning of a Father celebrating the lost son's return vs. not celebrating (but still loving and honoring with the remaining inheritance) the diligent son who, in turn, has no love in his heart -- even for his brother -- and is performing familial duties perfunctorily (i.e., who embodies legalism vs. passion).
In a nutshell: Short read, interesting observations, but really not worth running out to buy.
Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert: Not even remotely written in the same vein as her hit Eat, Pray, Love but I really enjoyed this book. As someone who a) has pondered the rationale of marriage for more years than I've been married (i.e., I never really understood the need for it prior to getting married) and b) agreed to get married without any real understanding of what being married entailed, I couldn't help wishing that someone had written this book in the early nineties. It is a well researched, well documented treatise on "holy" matrimony including the history of marriage, with some multicultural references and a few "what works/what doesn't" statistics thrown in for good measure. The author's writing style suits me well so, for me, it was a page turner even if the subject matter is a bit dry at times and somewhat irrelevant to many of us.
In a nutshell: Unless you really care about the history of marriage and/or are considering getting married and want to ponder the subject a little more deeply, why bother?
All We Wanted Was Everything by Janelle Brown: A beach read. No more/no less. Given that I don't live in a world of IPOs, wealth, extravagance, country clubs, etc., I didn't relate well to the characters. And although I finished reading it I feel certain that, had I not, I wouldn't have missed a thing.
In a nutshell: Don't believe the hype.
All in all, a bit of a bust. Onward now to My Life with the Saints.
Can you drive to Barbados?
Instead, I must find peace at home.
At the end of mass last weekend, my mom's priest gave an announcement that they were selling the book My Life with the Saints for $10. Strange, that's exactly the recommended reading from Coffee Toast Milk Jam. My mom bought two! Can't wait to start reading tonight.
In preparation, for whatever reason extremely foreign to my normal behavior, I decided I shouldn't start another book until I had finished the three I was working on. So I did. Following are my two-second book reviews.
Reading Jesus by Mary Gordon: Interesting take on reading the Gospels from a Catholic who had never picked them up before. The author poses a lot of great questions about seemingly contradictory Bible passages; however, a little more probing prior to publishing her book may have answered some of the questions. I ain't no Biblical scholar but some of them seemed fairly easy to comprehend. For example, in thinking about the Prodigal Son's brother who gets screwed out of his possessions (including his fatted calf) when his drinking/whoring brother returns home and their dad throws a big party, she cries "unfair." Exactly. But she doesn't fully explore the greater meaning of a Father celebrating the lost son's return vs. not celebrating (but still loving and honoring with the remaining inheritance) the diligent son who, in turn, has no love in his heart -- even for his brother -- and is performing familial duties perfunctorily (i.e., who embodies legalism vs. passion).
In a nutshell: Short read, interesting observations, but really not worth running out to buy.
Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert: Not even remotely written in the same vein as her hit Eat, Pray, Love but I really enjoyed this book. As someone who a) has pondered the rationale of marriage for more years than I've been married (i.e., I never really understood the need for it prior to getting married) and b) agreed to get married without any real understanding of what being married entailed, I couldn't help wishing that someone had written this book in the early nineties. It is a well researched, well documented treatise on "holy" matrimony including the history of marriage, with some multicultural references and a few "what works/what doesn't" statistics thrown in for good measure. The author's writing style suits me well so, for me, it was a page turner even if the subject matter is a bit dry at times and somewhat irrelevant to many of us.
In a nutshell: Unless you really care about the history of marriage and/or are considering getting married and want to ponder the subject a little more deeply, why bother?
All We Wanted Was Everything by Janelle Brown: A beach read. No more/no less. Given that I don't live in a world of IPOs, wealth, extravagance, country clubs, etc., I didn't relate well to the characters. And although I finished reading it I feel certain that, had I not, I wouldn't have missed a thing.
In a nutshell: Don't believe the hype.
All in all, a bit of a bust. Onward now to My Life with the Saints.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Parenthetically Speaking
My girlfriends took me out on Monday night for a belated birthday dinner. I can honestly say, I have the greatest friends ever known to mankind. They're beautiful, smart, kind and funny as hell. It's one heckuva good combo. Per usual, our conversation ranged from vaginal reconstruction (a.k.a. the snatch lift) to the joy of breast exams and contained the mandatory discussion of hot men (i.e., famous and/or local).
Note #1: I have to use "and/or" in that sentence 'cause one of us scored a famous/local husband who's really easy on the eyes. (Yes, I'm talking about you, hon! And maybe just a little about John.)
Note #2: I say "no" to Robert Downey Jr.; I am completely overruled.
Anyhoo, we ventured to the Wegmans owned, newly opened Next Door Bar & Grill which is, in fact, next door to PETCO if you're keeping score. This is why their logo requires the failed logic, "across from Wegmans Pittsford" addendum. But, yet, I understand completely. Why name your restaurant something suitable (or compelling, for that matter) when you can now attract all of those customers who, while shopping for Max's biscuits, realize that they're so friggin' hungry they could devour a can of wet dog food and immediately realize, "Oh wait! Let's just go next door!" Very clever, Danny, very clever. Note to my vast readership: PETCO is also a great way to avoid valet parking if you're a) so inclined and b) in need of kitty litter. Win: win.
The restaurant itself is shockingly large inside (who knew the bowels of Rite-Aid were so vast?) and somewhat confused/confusing from a design aesthetic. In an odd, low budget tribute to Trading Spaces, the lobby contains pale wood shelving lined with fresh, green apples and the hallway to the main grill area is flanked by birch logs hanging from chains. I'm convinced that some (lazy) designer, channeling Hildi, probably made Alex, the General Manager, cut down a tree and then stay up all night turning it into "artful" decor the night before the grand opening. What a reveal that must have been for Danny, eh? I'm really hoping his expression was captured on film.
Although the main grill area was the place to see and be seen, we werehidden seated in a room to the side which was absolutely devoid of ambiance. (Placing us out of earshot was probably for the best given our topics of conversation. Prescient hostess?) My favorite topic, the cocktails (which weigh heavily in my ranking), were fabulous. One friend had a delicious Flock of Seagulls (pale blue) martini. I had a sake mojito. Yum.
The menu is great because it has both tasting dishes (to share) and full entrees (to hoard), if desired. We opted for dishes to share (i.e., the group-designed sampler platter which I love). At first blush, our waitress was extremely helpful. She did exactly what is needed: steer us away from potential disasters (apparently the fig and gorgonzola pizza is a huge miss) and direct us toward the culinary gems. One problem: the meals we ordered weren't all that spectacular. The spinach pizza was bland, the mussels and pommes frites were okay, and yet somehow the sushi was perfect. (I say that's a whole heck of a lot of overhead for a sushi joint. Shiki anyone?)
On our way out, we stopped into the bar just to check it out. While it has a nice feel and intimate seating areas with couches/chairs, it was also blasting techno/dance music. Very relaxing for a Monday night. To compound the confusion, there's another room off the back of the bar bathed in red light and disco dots. Hello Disco Stu. (And high five to the geriatric business dude who liked my dance moves. Next time I'm out partying on a school night, I'm looking for you grandpa! Game on.)
All in all, it was a great night out. Do I need to go Next Door any time soon? Nah.
Oh, and I have to include this song for Kris because I sing it every time I'm in a restaurant but I substitute Andres with Entree. Go figure. Catchy.
Note #1: I have to use "and/or" in that sentence 'cause one of us scored a famous/local husband who's really easy on the eyes. (Yes, I'm talking about you, hon! And maybe just a little about John.)
Note #2: I say "no" to Robert Downey Jr.; I am completely overruled.
Anyhoo, we ventured to the Wegmans owned, newly opened Next Door Bar & Grill which is, in fact, next door to PETCO if you're keeping score. This is why their logo requires the failed logic, "across from Wegmans Pittsford" addendum. But, yet, I understand completely. Why name your restaurant something suitable (or compelling, for that matter) when you can now attract all of those customers who, while shopping for Max's biscuits, realize that they're so friggin' hungry they could devour a can of wet dog food and immediately realize, "Oh wait! Let's just go next door!" Very clever, Danny, very clever. Note to my vast readership: PETCO is also a great way to avoid valet parking if you're a) so inclined and b) in need of kitty litter. Win: win.
The restaurant itself is shockingly large inside (who knew the bowels of Rite-Aid were so vast?) and somewhat confused/confusing from a design aesthetic. In an odd, low budget tribute to Trading Spaces, the lobby contains pale wood shelving lined with fresh, green apples and the hallway to the main grill area is flanked by birch logs hanging from chains. I'm convinced that some (lazy) designer, channeling Hildi, probably made Alex, the General Manager, cut down a tree and then stay up all night turning it into "artful" decor the night before the grand opening. What a reveal that must have been for Danny, eh? I'm really hoping his expression was captured on film.
Although the main grill area was the place to see and be seen, we were
The menu is great because it has both tasting dishes (to share) and full entrees (to hoard), if desired. We opted for dishes to share (i.e., the group-designed sampler platter which I love). At first blush, our waitress was extremely helpful. She did exactly what is needed: steer us away from potential disasters (apparently the fig and gorgonzola pizza is a huge miss) and direct us toward the culinary gems. One problem: the meals we ordered weren't all that spectacular. The spinach pizza was bland, the mussels and pommes frites were okay, and yet somehow the sushi was perfect. (I say that's a whole heck of a lot of overhead for a sushi joint. Shiki anyone?)
On our way out, we stopped into the bar just to check it out. While it has a nice feel and intimate seating areas with couches/chairs, it was also blasting techno/dance music. Very relaxing for a Monday night. To compound the confusion, there's another room off the back of the bar bathed in red light and disco dots. Hello Disco Stu. (And high five to the geriatric business dude who liked my dance moves. Next time I'm out partying on a school night, I'm looking for you grandpa! Game on.)
All in all, it was a great night out. Do I need to go Next Door any time soon? Nah.
Oh, and I have to include this song for Kris because I sing it every time I'm in a restaurant but I substitute Andres with Entree. Go figure. Catchy.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Good Eats
In the last few weeks, I have had the pleasure of visiting a couple of pseudo-Anthony Bourdain-worthy restaurants. (Wow, do I envy his life.)
When in NYC, I met my girlfriend Beth at Charlie Palmer's Metrazur in Grand Central.
Very elegant and sophisticated for two chicks wearing jeans. I ordered the ahi tuna tartare and, per our waitress' recommendation, the veal pappardelle. In other words, enough to feed a horse. Hearty, filling, interesting, something I would never normally order and, yet, nothing I'm craving now. The dramatic ambiance, overlooking the concourse, is what makes it worthy of a visit. As an added bonus: Beth knows the owner so we were given a free plate of cookies to accompany her warm chocolate chip and banana financiere. Calorie overload. Sensory overload. Taste explosion. Nice touch.
Last weekend, some of the hubby's friends took us to Santasiero's, a Buffalo landmark.
Although the building stands in what felt like a deserted, industrial area of downtown, inside it was warm, friendly, inviting and packed to the gills with families of all ages.
The tablecloths were plastic, colorful and covered with mismatched Christmas motifs. The dinner salad consisted of iceberg lettuce, cherry tomatoes, black olives and something akin to Wish-bone Italian dressing.
I was persuaded to order either the pasta e fagioli or the pasta and peas. Why not? When in Rome, right? I opted for the "pasta fasoola" (as it was written on the wallboard menu alongside something about their "family jewels" -- yum). What arrived was a gigantic, delicious, heaping bowl of pasta and kidney beans that was never-ending. So good, I could eat it again immediately. And the carafe of wine I shared with Cyd came with two, unassuming shot glasses for our wine. Loved it! Nothing pretentious here.
Food-wise, Santasiero's was the clear winner. Ambiance? Impossible to compare apples to oranges but I think Santasiero's was more my style overall. Company? Excellent for both meals. But there's something to be said for leaving the table at Metrazur and wandering through the Grand Central Market and the holiday fair. Yep. Everything can be trumped by a great tree chandelier.
When in NYC, I met my girlfriend Beth at Charlie Palmer's Metrazur in Grand Central.
Very elegant and sophisticated for two chicks wearing jeans. I ordered the ahi tuna tartare and, per our waitress' recommendation, the veal pappardelle. In other words, enough to feed a horse. Hearty, filling, interesting, something I would never normally order and, yet, nothing I'm craving now. The dramatic ambiance, overlooking the concourse, is what makes it worthy of a visit. As an added bonus: Beth knows the owner so we were given a free plate of cookies to accompany her warm chocolate chip and banana financiere. Calorie overload. Sensory overload. Taste explosion. Nice touch.
Last weekend, some of the hubby's friends took us to Santasiero's, a Buffalo landmark.
Although the building stands in what felt like a deserted, industrial area of downtown, inside it was warm, friendly, inviting and packed to the gills with families of all ages.
The tablecloths were plastic, colorful and covered with mismatched Christmas motifs. The dinner salad consisted of iceberg lettuce, cherry tomatoes, black olives and something akin to Wish-bone Italian dressing.
I was persuaded to order either the pasta e fagioli or the pasta and peas. Why not? When in Rome, right? I opted for the "pasta fasoola" (as it was written on the wallboard menu alongside something about their "family jewels" -- yum). What arrived was a gigantic, delicious, heaping bowl of pasta and kidney beans that was never-ending. So good, I could eat it again immediately. And the carafe of wine I shared with Cyd came with two, unassuming shot glasses for our wine. Loved it! Nothing pretentious here.
Food-wise, Santasiero's was the clear winner. Ambiance? Impossible to compare apples to oranges but I think Santasiero's was more my style overall. Company? Excellent for both meals. But there's something to be said for leaving the table at Metrazur and wandering through the Grand Central Market and the holiday fair. Yep. Everything can be trumped by a great tree chandelier.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Doolittle
I finally, finally, finally got to see the Pixies last night at the Hammerstein Ballroom. An absolute dream come true. I looooove them. They, as expected, sounded phenomenal. They were unbelievably tight, Kim Deal's voice was haunting, Frank Black can still scream like there's no tomorrow, the guitar riffs were fantabulous, and so on. In an alternate universe, they would have rocked the house but, chalk it up to over-excitement on my part, they seemed almost . . . bored? Soulless? There was zero audience engagement except for a few random sentences from Kim. And the feeling was reciprocated. There was next to no dancing or even movement on the floor. I was expecting rapture, madness, joy, anything. Nope. I've honestly seen more bodies swaying at a church service.
Throughout the show, the Pixies had a vibrant screen of riveting, surrealist film images running behind them and their faces were dimly lit. I seriously think I could have saved a whole heap of money by simply listening to them on my iPod and watching my screen saver. At one point they had cameras lighting the crowd and capturing the first few rows of people on the screen behind them. Overall, it was definitely a cool effect but I couldn't help but feel the irony of paying to hear a band and instead watching the friggin' audience.
Other stage effects included giant, glowing, bulbous orbs and epic amounts of white smoke pouring onto the stage. My friend Petey likened it to a Great White show, "Let's get the hell out of here."
The Pixies have so many great, great songs but the Doolittle set only lasted one hour. The audience had to beg for each encore when it felt wholly premature for them to have exited the stage to begin with. And they were gone so long -- as we watched a film of them repeatedly taking bows -- that we were joking that they were probably already back at their hotel while a roomful of idiots remained clapping. (That could actually be an interesting social experiment. How long would people keep clapping?) But the encores, including Gigantic and Where is My Mind?, were mind blowing and most definitely worth the wait.
They may still be one of the best bands ever but, hands down, Wilco blows them away.
Throughout the show, the Pixies had a vibrant screen of riveting, surrealist film images running behind them and their faces were dimly lit. I seriously think I could have saved a whole heap of money by simply listening to them on my iPod and watching my screen saver. At one point they had cameras lighting the crowd and capturing the first few rows of people on the screen behind them. Overall, it was definitely a cool effect but I couldn't help but feel the irony of paying to hear a band and instead watching the friggin' audience.
Other stage effects included giant, glowing, bulbous orbs and epic amounts of white smoke pouring onto the stage. My friend Petey likened it to a Great White show, "Let's get the hell out of here."
The Pixies have so many great, great songs but the Doolittle set only lasted one hour. The audience had to beg for each encore when it felt wholly premature for them to have exited the stage to begin with. And they were gone so long -- as we watched a film of them repeatedly taking bows -- that we were joking that they were probably already back at their hotel while a roomful of idiots remained clapping. (That could actually be an interesting social experiment. How long would people keep clapping?) But the encores, including Gigantic and Where is My Mind?, were mind blowing and most definitely worth the wait.
They may still be one of the best bands ever but, hands down, Wilco blows them away.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Free Range Telephone Poles
How is it possible that I'm back in this office so quickly? Why can't every weekend be filled with fun and candy? Like double cherry pie? Like disco lemonade?
First off, I read a book that the hubby borrowed from the library entitled Year of the Cock: The Remarkable True Account of a Married Man Who Left His Wife and Paid the Price. A total page turner! And by page turner, I mean that you can flip through, without reading, about 100 pages of absolute jibber jabber where this dude is pathologically obsessed with his penis. Constantly standing in front of the mirror, measuring, tugging, etc. and describing it all in exhaustive detail. Thanks but no thanks. While the "cock" reference is perfectly in sync with the Chinese zodiac, I really wish there was a Year of the Douchebag: The Lame but True Account of a Total Dip Shit Who Lost His Mind, Wife, Palms, Young/Hot Girlfriends and Any Sense of Decorum. With all that said, this tale confirms that men with small penises do, in fact, buy Porsches. Ew.
Beyond that, the weekend was filled with taking Son #1 to swimming class and sitting poolside for an additional hour while he played water polo with the other kids, creating cute little Halloween pumpkin crafts (I'm so stinkin' domestic!!), handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters as my ninja and alien boys went door-to-door collecting even more lard-ass-inducing loot, going to church and going on a hike with the Cub Scouts at the Cumming Nature Center where I felt like I was fully immersed in an Audubon painting. Specifically this Hudson River School painting that I stumbled upon but with fewer leaves and more beaver lodges.
What I learned? That prior to the obsolescence of land lines, entire forests were planted to farm telephone poles. And they're breathtaking now.
(Photo from the Finger Lakes Visitors Connection via Ontario County.)
What else I learned? That GPS is completely unreliable. (Note: I already discovered this on my way to D.C. and my way home from Saranac Lake but this time was the worst.) It told me to take a left on a non-existent street. Just trees to the left. Trees to the right. I was also guided deep into a continuous cycle/circle of U-turns. It later led me up a gravel driveway that ended at a house and proceeded to tell me to take a left. My father did that while drunk many years ago and his car wound up in our living room -- so I decided not to follow in his footsteps. I didn't know this family and they might not appreciate it as much as we did at the time.
Anyhoo, nothing says "leadership" and "parenting 101" quite like driving 700 miles an hour on winding, country roads and bellowing expletives while a little scout sits quietly in the backseat occasionally piping in with comments like, "Wow mama! That was a sharp turn!" as he slid sideways. Thank God for seat belts. And for troop meetings that start notoriously late.
All of this leads up to today: Little Monkey's eighth birthday! Stock tip of the week: before the official birthday party next weekend, buy shares of GameStop and all things Tony Hawk. If last night's family party was any indication, there's a whole lot of dollars being invested in these brands.
Once again, happiness prevails.
First off, I read a book that the hubby borrowed from the library entitled Year of the Cock: The Remarkable True Account of a Married Man Who Left His Wife and Paid the Price. A total page turner! And by page turner, I mean that you can flip through, without reading, about 100 pages of absolute jibber jabber where this dude is pathologically obsessed with his penis. Constantly standing in front of the mirror, measuring, tugging, etc. and describing it all in exhaustive detail. Thanks but no thanks. While the "cock" reference is perfectly in sync with the Chinese zodiac, I really wish there was a Year of the Douchebag: The Lame but True Account of a Total Dip Shit Who Lost His Mind, Wife, Palms, Young/Hot Girlfriends and Any Sense of Decorum. With all that said, this tale confirms that men with small penises do, in fact, buy Porsches. Ew.
Beyond that, the weekend was filled with taking Son #1 to swimming class and sitting poolside for an additional hour while he played water polo with the other kids, creating cute little Halloween pumpkin crafts (I'm so stinkin' domestic!!), handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters as my ninja and alien boys went door-to-door collecting even more lard-ass-inducing loot, going to church and going on a hike with the Cub Scouts at the Cumming Nature Center where I felt like I was fully immersed in an Audubon painting. Specifically this Hudson River School painting that I stumbled upon but with fewer leaves and more beaver lodges.
What I learned? That prior to the obsolescence of land lines, entire forests were planted to farm telephone poles. And they're breathtaking now.
(Photo from the Finger Lakes Visitors Connection via Ontario County.)
What else I learned? That GPS is completely unreliable. (Note: I already discovered this on my way to D.C. and my way home from Saranac Lake but this time was the worst.) It told me to take a left on a non-existent street. Just trees to the left. Trees to the right. I was also guided deep into a continuous cycle/circle of U-turns. It later led me up a gravel driveway that ended at a house and proceeded to tell me to take a left. My father did that while drunk many years ago and his car wound up in our living room -- so I decided not to follow in his footsteps. I didn't know this family and they might not appreciate it as much as we did at the time.
Anyhoo, nothing says "leadership" and "parenting 101" quite like driving 700 miles an hour on winding, country roads and bellowing expletives while a little scout sits quietly in the backseat occasionally piping in with comments like, "Wow mama! That was a sharp turn!" as he slid sideways. Thank God for seat belts. And for troop meetings that start notoriously late.
All of this leads up to today: Little Monkey's eighth birthday! Stock tip of the week: before the official birthday party next weekend, buy shares of GameStop and all things Tony Hawk. If last night's family party was any indication, there's a whole lot of dollars being invested in these brands.
Once again, happiness prevails.
Friday, October 2, 2009
My Day of Atonement
Years ago, after the hubby had his wisdom teeth out, I rented Beaches and some other horrible chick flick like Fried Green Tomatoes. Kick 'em when he's down, I say. He's never quite forgiven me.
I finally atoned for that sin during Yom Kippur by getting sick, staying home for two days, reading a boring book and watching three films -- all of which left more to be desired. The worst of the lot was Adrift in Manhattan starring Heather Graham. The only thing that could have saved me from interminable boredom during this "drama" was if I were adrift in Manhattans but alas I'm deep in the heart of my pseudo-Lenten, non-drinking period. Next up was Grace is Gone with my main man John Cusack. Not bad; not great. Touchingly so so.
Hands down, the best movie of the three was Burn After Reading which was disappointingly not up to par with other Coen Brothers films. But here's what I really want to know: how did they get John Malkovich to play the part of the jilted agent/husband? Did he read the script before signing on? He, of course, was fantastic (as he typically is) but his character spent the entire film saying and/or asking "What the f*&^?" in a million different, highly expressive ways. I'm not sure he had many (if any) other lines but he delivered each WTF with a new, fresh intonation while stressing different words. Impressive. I guess that's acting. The hubby's guess is that he needed a cash infusion to renovate his kitchen.
Oh well. I think it's high time to put my movie picking to rest and let others select films for me from now on. It's no wonder I'm not allowed to touch the remote.
I finally atoned for that sin during Yom Kippur by getting sick, staying home for two days, reading a boring book and watching three films -- all of which left more to be desired. The worst of the lot was Adrift in Manhattan starring Heather Graham. The only thing that could have saved me from interminable boredom during this "drama" was if I were adrift in Manhattans but alas I'm deep in the heart of my pseudo-Lenten, non-drinking period. Next up was Grace is Gone with my main man John Cusack. Not bad; not great. Touchingly so so.
Hands down, the best movie of the three was Burn After Reading which was disappointingly not up to par with other Coen Brothers films. But here's what I really want to know: how did they get John Malkovich to play the part of the jilted agent/husband? Did he read the script before signing on? He, of course, was fantastic (as he typically is) but his character spent the entire film saying and/or asking "What the f*&^?" in a million different, highly expressive ways. I'm not sure he had many (if any) other lines but he delivered each WTF with a new, fresh intonation while stressing different words. Impressive. I guess that's acting. The hubby's guess is that he needed a cash infusion to renovate his kitchen.
Oh well. I think it's high time to put my movie picking to rest and let others select films for me from now on. It's no wonder I'm not allowed to touch the remote.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Mini-weekend: Day 16
"I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that I lived just the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well." --Diane Ackerman
Found that quote in the book Positivity that I read this afternoon while soaking up the sun in my hammock. I agree -- I want to live larger than ever before. Days like today make life worth living. It wasn't all fun and hammock. I even cleaned my room, chatted on the phone and did a few loads of wash. I could break out into some Karen Carpenter right about now. Relaxation + freshly laundered clothes = top of the world. (Doesn't take much, really.)
I also started the book Happy for No Reason which is less scientific than Positivity and has ties to The Secret so I'm prematurely thinking it may be more hogwash than substantive but what the hey? It appears to have more stories and that always bodes well for holding my interest at the very least. And one of the first chapters is called, "Practicing Happiness." As a six month practitioner of the mini-weekend, I'm loving the self-affirmation.
Now to incorporate all the positivity into my 13-hour work days. D'oh! First off: stop complaining!
Yours truly, Pollyanna Pittsford
Found that quote in the book Positivity that I read this afternoon while soaking up the sun in my hammock. I agree -- I want to live larger than ever before. Days like today make life worth living. It wasn't all fun and hammock. I even cleaned my room, chatted on the phone and did a few loads of wash. I could break out into some Karen Carpenter right about now. Relaxation + freshly laundered clothes = top of the world. (Doesn't take much, really.)
I also started the book Happy for No Reason which is less scientific than Positivity and has ties to The Secret so I'm prematurely thinking it may be more hogwash than substantive but what the hey? It appears to have more stories and that always bodes well for holding my interest at the very least. And one of the first chapters is called, "Practicing Happiness." As a six month practitioner of the mini-weekend, I'm loving the self-affirmation.
Now to incorporate all the positivity into my 13-hour work days. D'oh! First off: stop complaining!
Yours truly, Pollyanna Pittsford
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Sanibellisimo
TripAdvisor just posted my review of Sanibel Moorings. Thankfully, we've come a long way from my initial post of "Ay Carumba" (rating: one) for the Gran Caribe Real in Cancun as well as last summer's "OMG" (rating: two) for the HoJo off the thruway in PA on the way to the beach.
Now to hunker down and get to work.
Now to hunker down and get to work.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Farm Fetid Kitchen
Son #2 wanted Thanksgiving dinner for his birthday and the hubby obliged with a fabulous turkey, homemade stuffing and the most delicious, creamy, summer squash soup ever known to mankind. With meals like that at home, why venture out?
To have fun with your girlfriends, that's why! To celebrate birthdays. To de-stress. To catch up. To try new restaurants. To drink martinis. And to write blog postings . . .
Step aside vomit-inducing meal across the street, welcome Farm Fresh Kitchen! As stated on their website, "We believe meals can taste divine and still be good for you too. Really -- it can be done." Just not at their restaurant -- something they failed to mention.
Oh, where to begin? Maybe a laundry list will suffice: the rolls were stale, the pumpkin martini didn't taste like pumpkin, my quarter-sized tuna credo tasted like it spent the better part of a day rotting on the pier, someone dumped a liter of salt in the couscous, and the gnocchi was pure mush. On a minor note, we got a different bottle of wine than ordered; however, it was fine. Thankfully our waitress took the tuna off the bill and gave us a free dessert (for the birthday girl at the table).
But at $48 per person, not remotely worth the investment.
Oddly enough, the place was empty. I wonder why.
To have fun with your girlfriends, that's why! To celebrate birthdays. To de-stress. To catch up. To try new restaurants. To drink martinis. And to write blog postings . . .
Step aside vomit-inducing meal across the street, welcome Farm Fresh Kitchen! As stated on their website, "We believe meals can taste divine and still be good for you too. Really -- it can be done." Just not at their restaurant -- something they failed to mention.
Oh, where to begin? Maybe a laundry list will suffice: the rolls were stale, the pumpkin martini didn't taste like pumpkin, my quarter-sized tuna credo tasted like it spent the better part of a day rotting on the pier, someone dumped a liter of salt in the couscous, and the gnocchi was pure mush. On a minor note, we got a different bottle of wine than ordered; however, it was fine. Thankfully our waitress took the tuna off the bill and gave us a free dessert (for the birthday girl at the table).
But at $48 per person, not remotely worth the investment.
Oddly enough, the place was empty. I wonder why.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Me Talk Pretty
My girlfriend took me to see David Sedaris at the Auditorium Theatre last night because her husband, who purchased the tickets, was called out of town on business (thanks John!). Since I had given Amy Sedaris' Hospitality Under the Influence cookbook to her for her b-day a few years ago, she knew how much I like the hilarity of the Sedaris family in general -- second only to the Cusacks. Whereas I want to marry John (Cusack that is) because he's hot AND I could then spend Christmas with Joan, I actually want to be Amy Sedaris. There's nothing better than dressing up and acting like a goofball (except getting paid for doing so); I just don't get to do it often enough. Maybe since the white trash bridal shower we threw for my girlfriend Mary many moons ago?
Anyhoo, I now wish I could be a talented writer like David -- yet his deadlines seem comparable to mine. He wakes up three hours before his car service arrives in the morning in order to get work done . . . not as relaxed as the romanticized life of a writer otherwise sounds.
Although he was standing and pretty darned funny, unlike Chris Rock, David Sedaris is not a stand-up comic per se. Instead he reads from his essays which are laden with dry humor and a shy sensitivity that comes even more to life with his spoken voice. He had the audience laughing throughout the show -- including some gaffawing. The best line of the night, which I cannot capture properly without the backstory and his comedic delivery, included a comparison for voters in the upcoming election between the chicken dish or human shit with glass.
Strangely, my favorite portion was the Q&A session at the end of his reading. It showcased that he is quick witted even when speaking off-the-cuff. The questions posed weren't intriguing at face value
(e.g., who's your favorite sibling and why?); however, his honest, thoughtful and droll answers made it more remarkable and interesting than his readings.
Oh and speaking of strange, David Sedaris continually plugged The Braindead Megaphone Essays by SU professor George Saunders. Not only was he selling this book alongside his in the lobby but he also said to the crowd, "I would buy his book before I would buy anything written by me."
With a recommendation like that, it has to be funny, no? Maybe I'll read it this weekend.
Anyhoo, I now wish I could be a talented writer like David -- yet his deadlines seem comparable to mine. He wakes up three hours before his car service arrives in the morning in order to get work done . . . not as relaxed as the romanticized life of a writer otherwise sounds.
Although he was standing and pretty darned funny, unlike Chris Rock, David Sedaris is not a stand-up comic per se. Instead he reads from his essays which are laden with dry humor and a shy sensitivity that comes even more to life with his spoken voice. He had the audience laughing throughout the show -- including some gaffawing. The best line of the night, which I cannot capture properly without the backstory and his comedic delivery, included a comparison for voters in the upcoming election between the chicken dish or human shit with glass.
Strangely, my favorite portion was the Q&A session at the end of his reading. It showcased that he is quick witted even when speaking off-the-cuff. The questions posed weren't intriguing at face value
(e.g., who's your favorite sibling and why?); however, his honest, thoughtful and droll answers made it more remarkable and interesting than his readings.
Oh and speaking of strange, David Sedaris continually plugged The Braindead Megaphone Essays by SU professor George Saunders. Not only was he selling this book alongside his in the lobby but he also said to the crowd, "I would buy his book before I would buy anything written by me."
With a recommendation like that, it has to be funny, no? Maybe I'll read it this weekend.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
I Found My Thrill
I just trolled a bunch of beer review sites (e.g., Beer Advocate, Rate Beer, The Brew Club) where I discovered that I may be the only person on the planet who likes Anheuser-Busch's Wild Blue blueberry lager.
(Image from JustBeer a fun little beer blog.)
Maybe because I don't normally drink beer? And I love Kool-Aid? Or perhaps my sudden attraction to (necessity for) Hall's cough drops and NyQuil are tainting my view.
Anything that's brightly colored with purple foam can't be bad . . . not to mention the antioxidants.
(Image from JustBeer a fun little beer blog.)
Maybe because I don't normally drink beer? And I love Kool-Aid? Or perhaps my sudden attraction to (necessity for) Hall's cough drops and NyQuil are tainting my view.
Anything that's brightly colored with purple foam can't be bad . . . not to mention the antioxidants.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Perlo on Furlough
Okay, so I'm not trying to get into the business of restaurant reviews but my boss and I took some high-profile clients to a much touted Perlo's last night and -- oh, how do you say -- never again?!
When you're across the street from one of the city's best Italian restaurants, your decor is suboptimal and your food only marginally better, shouldn't customer service be your strength? Otherwise, how do you differentiate yourself (in a positive fashion)?
With six people ordering appetizers, soups and full meals, shouldn't one person be "allowed" to order a smaller (i.e., children's) portion of the ravioli, if so desired? Doesn't the customer come first? Our waitress not only said "no" but also checked with the owner who also said "no dice." Our client didn't order a meal at all. Somehow that's better than
a) pleasing the customer and b) generating more revenue?
Did I mention someone in the restaurant was smoking?
What's Italian for "ass backwards": àsino al contrario?
Ciao.
When you're across the street from one of the city's best Italian restaurants, your decor is suboptimal and your food only marginally better, shouldn't customer service be your strength? Otherwise, how do you differentiate yourself (in a positive fashion)?
With six people ordering appetizers, soups and full meals, shouldn't one person be "allowed" to order a smaller (i.e., children's) portion of the ravioli, if so desired? Doesn't the customer come first? Our waitress not only said "no" but also checked with the owner who also said "no dice." Our client didn't order a meal at all. Somehow that's better than
a) pleasing the customer and b) generating more revenue?
Did I mention someone in the restaurant was smoking?
What's Italian for "ass backwards": àsino al contrario?
Ciao.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Dinosaur Jr.
Met some Simon school friends for barbecue ribs at the Dinosaur last night. It was sooooooooo good. Sooooooo good. Sooooooooo good. Loved the Drunken Spicy Shrimp Boil the most. And I really enjoyed my flight of beers -- a little strange since I don't even like beer. My favorite: The Arrogant Bastard.
When I just clicked through their site, I happened to notice their tagline (of course).
"You're Not Worthy."
Classic! (Although it shouldn't take a multi-million dollar ad agency to tell you that you don't need quotes around your tag; just a quick gander at other taglines or a dogeared copy of Strunk & White.)
When I just clicked through their site, I happened to notice their tagline (of course).
"You're Not Worthy."
Classic! (Although it shouldn't take a multi-million dollar ad agency to tell you that you don't need quotes around your tag; just a quick gander at other taglines or a dogeared copy of Strunk & White.)
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Good Luck
I went to Good Luck restaurant last night with the girls to celebrate Christine's birthday. One word: must go! Oh, did I say one word? I meant two. It's a large, open, industrial space in the old Fabrics and Findings warehouse at the Village Gate with a bit of a French country community ambiance thrown in.
Their tapas-like menu boasts "food to share" which makes the whole dining experience interactive and fun. The food was fresh, flavorful and light -- and it just kept coming. We shared two bottles of wine; the charcuterie plate; leeks with lump crab; shrimp, bean and goat cheese crostini; warm arugula with bleu cheese and roasted figs; and heaps of funny and/or tear-filled stories about our kids, jobs, lives, sex, faith, parents in nursing homes, etc.
But one of the best parts of our evening was our waiter: Storm. He was the most articulate and knowledgeable waiter I have ever had the pleasure of meeting not to mention likeable and funny. He had no fear of making solid recommendations and sharing with us what foods were locally sourced, how they are prepared and plated, what spices are used, and so on. (As a contrast, I often hear the "I don't know, I've never tried that" response to my inquiry which makes me cringe. Really? Because isn't knowing about the food your job?) I really hope he's compensated well because he's worth his weight in gold.
One more thing. Unlike Label 7 (a.k.a. Mustards) our local tapas-style eatery in the village, which has to-die-for rich, creamy, yummy foods and attractive space, this place was also packed to the gills but otherwise noiseless. At Label 7, you cannot hear your friends seated at your same table; at Good Luck, you cannot hear others at the table next to you. Although, last night, that would have come in handy as the man next to us unwrapped a dress for his birthday gift. Uh, what's with the frock mister?
Next time, I'm ordering one of their original cocktails. For the girl who never knows what drink to order and continually pesters bar staff to create something original, I cannot believe I didn't try the Johnny Walker black cat tea or the Knock on Wood (Appleton Estate Rhum, apricot brandy, lime and brown sugar). As Clarissa sang to Rudolph, "there's always tomorrow."
Their tapas-like menu boasts "food to share" which makes the whole dining experience interactive and fun. The food was fresh, flavorful and light -- and it just kept coming. We shared two bottles of wine; the charcuterie plate; leeks with lump crab; shrimp, bean and goat cheese crostini; warm arugula with bleu cheese and roasted figs; and heaps of funny and/or tear-filled stories about our kids, jobs, lives, sex, faith, parents in nursing homes, etc.
But one of the best parts of our evening was our waiter: Storm. He was the most articulate and knowledgeable waiter I have ever had the pleasure of meeting not to mention likeable and funny. He had no fear of making solid recommendations and sharing with us what foods were locally sourced, how they are prepared and plated, what spices are used, and so on. (As a contrast, I often hear the "I don't know, I've never tried that" response to my inquiry which makes me cringe. Really? Because isn't knowing about the food your job?) I really hope he's compensated well because he's worth his weight in gold.
One more thing. Unlike Label 7 (a.k.a. Mustards) our local tapas-style eatery in the village, which has to-die-for rich, creamy, yummy foods and attractive space, this place was also packed to the gills but otherwise noiseless. At Label 7, you cannot hear your friends seated at your same table; at Good Luck, you cannot hear others at the table next to you. Although, last night, that would have come in handy as the man next to us unwrapped a dress for his birthday gift. Uh, what's with the frock mister?
Next time, I'm ordering one of their original cocktails. For the girl who never knows what drink to order and continually pesters bar staff to create something original, I cannot believe I didn't try the Johnny Walker black cat tea or the Knock on Wood (Appleton Estate Rhum, apricot brandy, lime and brown sugar). As Clarissa sang to Rudolph, "there's always tomorrow."
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