Fine Dining: a minefield for the unwary

Even though many of us do not formally review restaurants, we have all had the opportunity to share with others our experiences and feelings about our dining experiences. And, inevitably, we've given advice that worked for us and didn't work for our listeners.

How often have you told someone that a restaurant is lovely and the food is flavorful, only to have them tell you that their experience included rude service and horrible food? And let's face it: the opposite is true, as well. I can't count the number of times I've shied away from eating at an establishment that displeased me earlier, only to find -- thanks to a friend or co-worker -- that they have truly turned around.

In some cases, however, it's more difficult to provide support or discouragement: what if the restaurant in question is owned by a friend? As a case in point, there's a small establishment I wanted to patronize because it's owned by a former co-worker; unfortunately, such was not to be.

A month after opening, they still hadn't completed the painting, the carpeting was coming up in some areas, the host stand was showing unfinished plywood, and the lighting was exceptionally dim. Add to that a menu rife with misspellings, a wine list that indicated no understanding of food pairings, an executive chef more interested in glad-handing and greeting customers than in overseeing their kitchen, and a crew filled with slow wait staff and undertrained cooks. The service was pathetic, and the food was abysmal.

My first meal there began with stale bread that appeared store-bought and a seafood-stuffed mushroom dish which tasted of nothing so much as soured artificial crab in motor oil-soaked cardboard. I also tried the Tuscan Bean soup, which reminded me of a taco cart's rather watery refried beans, only without the complexity of flavor brought forth via the cart's ambiance. My main course was a clam linguine with alfredo sauce: I'd never before had clams cooked until they become meal-filled rubber strips, and the pasta was surprisingly mushy in some spots while remaining exceptionally crunchy in others. The alfredo sauce tasted like cream of chicken soup ... condensed cream of chicken soup, fresh from the can, and before any additional liquid had been added. Needless to say, I was actually quite relieved that my dinner companion was called away from the table before we had to suffer through dessert. According to my friend, the desserts and pastries there were wonderful, but I was too horrified to try anything else. To be fair to the establishment, however, I went back three more times, hoping against hope that I'd have at least one good experience.

The second meal provided me with a limp, stringy salad as an appetizer, and a carpaccio of beef that could only have been improved had they used catsup on it. The wine served was forgettable: a thin vinegar scent only hinted at the horror contained in my glass. I was worried at first that the wine was oxidized or that it had been corked, but after sampling a second bottle, I'm forced to admit that it was just a poorly-chosen wine. To be fair, I bear part of the embarrassment for that selection: I was, after all, the one who ordered it.

The third meal was chicken. I skipped the appetizer. To say that the breast I was served was slightly dry is to say that the interior still needed a few minor touch-ups. The pasta was reasonably well cooked, and not overdone; however, the sauce served with the chicken was not what I had expected: I had ordered alfredo, and received pesto. When it was sent back to the kitchen, I received marinara in return.

The fourth meal was my breaking point: after waiting nearly half an hour for my order to be taken, the waitress was rude and abrasive. When my fish came out, it was so dry that it squeaked when I attempted to cut it, and did not flake so much as snap and crumble. I asked if the waitress would take the meal back so that I could get a piece prepared properly, and was told that this was how the fish was prepared, and if I did not like it, I could patronize another establishment. Needless to say, I paid my check and left, planning never to return.

I was informed about two weeks ago that the owners had made sure their servers were trained, made some changes to the restaurant, and had hired a new executive chef. I was not glowing with anticipation, but I agreed to accompany the friend who had first introduced me to this location for lunch.

The plywood host stand was gone, but the walls still needed paint. The lighting had been improved, but the menu was still riddled with misspellings. The tables had been rearranged, but they were crowded together. Spare glasses and plates were now displayed in bookcases around the establishment, but the bookcases themselves were aesthetically unpleasant. Artwork was strewn around the walls, but the choices detracted from the atmosphere. Their new executive chef was their former pâtisserie chef -- at least the desserts would still be good -- but the fact that they were promoting rather than seeking outside assistance made me wonder if the rest of the staff was still the same. I felt tentatively hopeful, but I was -- luckily, as it turned out -- not expecting perfection.

Once again, we had the seafood-stuffed mushrooms as an appetizer, but this time they were edible. The bread was fresher, although I'm still tempted to say it's store-bought. While my salad lettuce was more chewy than crunchy, they did bring me the dressing on the side, as I requested. My main dish was fettucini with chicken in a carbonara sauce. The chicken was slightly overdone, but the pasta was cooked quite well; however, the carbonara was ... interesting. Ostensibly, it had pancetta; however, the taste and texture was far more reminiscent of slightly soured bacon or aging Spam. Ironically, even with the melange of flavors, everything was exceptionally bland, and I wound up using far more salt and pepper than I prefer to get some flavor into the dish. Our waitress, while pleasant, was exceptionally slow: she had three tables with two patrons each in her section, and all were kept waiting.

Ultimately, it's unlikely that I'll return any time in the near future. I want to support my friends, but I prefer to support restaurants that know what good food is, how to prepare it, and both how and when to serve it. I do hope, however, that this particular restaurant continues the turnaround they've started: I want them to succeed, but they're going to have to do it without my patronage.