Well, here it is. I finally broke down and started a blog. It's bizarre to know that what I'm writing could potentially be read by anybody.
I decided to do it today because I came up with something that would be appropriate for a blog: dinner last night.
Tamara and I went to Lawry's for dinner last night, and the overall dining experience was largely the same as the other time I visited, several months ago with Kelly. Twice in a row, I'm terribly unimpressed with the service, so I don't think I'll be making a third visit there. Besides, I enjoy the steak and service at Smith & Wollensky much more; they just didn't have a late-notice reservation open last night.
Walking into the restaurant, I engaged the receptionist who said our table will be ready in a few minutes. We went into the bar, ordered a couple drinks (Balvenie 21 year (I would have settled for Glenfiddich 18 year, but their finest was only the 15 year) for me and Grey Goose and Seven for her), and eventually, the receptionist came back and took us back to the receptionist's desk, where waited the maitre d'hotel to take us to our table.
The maitre d'hotel took our drinks and said something to the effect of, "You wouldn't want to ruin your reputation by carrying drinks across the dining room." How absurd! Look, dude, if my reputation is so important to you, you really need to find someone else to stalk. Honestly, I'll carry my drink across the dining room on my own if you're set on commenting on things about which you know nothing. Do a wool suit and a merino wool sweater give off vibes that can be construed as representing a particular reputation? That's all he knew about me at that point, so maybe they do.
We are taken to our table, where the maitre d'hotel again proves himself to be an utter moron. Now, when you go to Lawry's and you sit at a booth table on the wood floor, the maitre d'hotel and waiters will move the table for easier access to and from the seats. Which is great, but apparently before we were allowed to sit down last night, it was necessary to tell us this in a little more detail than was probably appropriate. No big deal. We sit down, and he makes a point of telling us we're allowed to sit wherever we want and that the bus boy will move the table settings accordingly. Well, of course I'll sit where I want! I'm the customer, after all, and I'd better be able to.
So, enough of the maitre d'hotel. He goes away, a sigh of relief befalls the table, and I start looking at the wine list, completely forgetting in the din of the reverberations of the voice of the maitre d'hotel in my head that I still had a bit of Scotch in my glass.
Things proceeded reasonably normally throughout the rest of the meal, which included excellent crab cakes, very fresh salads, premium prime rib, mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, and the culinary abomination that is Yorkshire Pudding.
There were, however, a couple exceptions. First, before we started eating our salads, the waiter brought salad forks and presented them on folded linen on a plate. That was good, but then she left the plate and the linen on the seat next to Tamara, and they stayed there until she got up from the table. What is that about? Also, after I ordered the bottle of wine (Freemark Abbey 2000; it goes very well with steak but not much else), the waiter would notice our glasses were getting empty and ask if we wanted more. Of course I want more! I bought the bottle, didn't I? Just pour it and quit interrupting me!
Anyway, after we left Lawry's, my stomach was twisted for a good 15 minutes. Tamara said it was because of the bad service, and that's the best reason I could find.
Yes, so, this is my blog, and this is the kind of crap you get to read here. :)