notes on a restaurant i want to love but yeah

in

  • Food solid but lacks flavor (solution: fucking add salt) except the sweet potato fries which are wonderful but still fucking add salt – and not that umbrella lady iodized shit: I'm talking real, grainy, melt sidewalk ice kosher salt – to meat I mean come on.

  • Claustrophobic on Sunday brunches, especially when half of their plates are the same size as some of the smallest tables (solution: use smaller plates: a lox bagel does not need to be served on a serving platter brimming with capers and half-past avocado FFS).

  • Breathtakingly slow service – I try not to be annoyed, and I know the wait staff is doing the best they can but damn it, the hanger is real – from being woefully understaffed (and underprepared) for the amount of brunchers and accompanying half-assed and ill-followed reservation policy (solution: Sunday brunch is reservation only, smaller menu, remove center tables; if you don't have a reservation, see you after 12:30).

  • An atmosphere that tries to be something to everyone (chic and trendy with family-friendly downhome comfort and childless Guinness and eggs benedict alcoholic 🤗 bruncher mimosa college crowd college professor crowd blah blah blah) and ends up being utterly forgettable (solution: fucking pick one and roll with it I mean I don’t love Bob Evans but at least they have their schtick and stick with it).

  • Question for myself: would I be more forgiving of the above if they fucking added salt? Perhaps. It’d be a start.