I have always called them the most inconsiderate people on earth and this article made me persona non grata among those that smoke.
We, as a society, are terribly accommodating. Almost regardless of the behavior we will attempt to come up with a diagnosis and treatment that can explain away whatever the ill-advised action or lifestyle that we witness
From the time the head leaves the pillow until the procedure is reversed in the evening, human life is an unyielding series of decisions. Each and every action is the result of a decision. We decide how we want to dress, how we want to smell, what we want to eat, how hard we want to work and we even decide how nice and accommodating we want to be to our fellow man.
Throughout history, bad lifestyle choices have been allowed to be punished through the natural course. If you decided to not work, you eventually had to pay the consequences of that choice. If you decided to not treat an injury, you would deal with the resulting health issues and pay the price.
As a kind and progressive society we now try and intervene and explain to individuals that there is a good possibility that their bad lifestyle decisions may not be their fault. You are, after all, a product of your environment and there is a possibility that your environment caused you to make these choices.
For the morbidly obese we have Food Addiction, for Perverts, we have Sex Addiction, for misbehaving children we have ADHD, for the lazy we have Chronic Fatigue Disorder. If you have a problem that on the outside seems purely because of decisions you make, we will step in and try and make you feel better by applying a label or diagnosis to your problem.
It seems that society only leaves two types of people out in the cold. Pedophiles and smokers get no sympathy from anyone. They are the current day Lepers and society does everything in its power to ostracize and punish at every opportunity.
The smokers certainly don’t like being segregated. Like an animal that has been cornered, these Nicotine addicts lash out at society and make their presence known at every opportunity.
What we have to determine is whether these smokers should be treated as regular people who just happen to have a drug addiction or, because of their anti-social behavior, do we need to treat them as the degenerates that it appears they wish to be.
There can’t be a more inconsiderate group of individuals than smokers. On a daily basis I see more impact on society due to the behaviors of smokers than any other demographic.
Smokers expect that they should be permitted to leave their work and partake in their drug of choice. Smokers expect that in any public outdoor place they should be able to ingest their choice of drug regardless of the proximity of witnesses, it is none of their concern. Smokers believe that the instruments of their drug addiction aren’t subject to the same laws as other addicts. From littering to destruction of property, smokers cannot be considered law abiding citizens.
Smokers say they are hopelessly addicted to a substance. Smokers demand adequate consideration for their addiction. Why does society treat smokers differently than other drug addicts?
Piles of hypodermic needles left on the road by cocaine addicts would cause uproar, but the piles of cigarette butts on the same road will be ignored.
What part of nicotine so pollutes a smoker’s brain to make them believe that a 1 inch piece of paper in the form of a cigarette butt is any less of a piece of litter than a 1 inch post-it note? Again, what if our other addicts felt the same way? I bet a smoker would be annoyed if a sex addict littered the ground with used condoms or if a methamphetamine addict left jars of chemicals everywhere.
How about the trash cans and window ledges everywhere that have burns in the shape of cigarette butts? Smokers must have no property of their own because they have absolutely no respect for property owned by others. Trash cans that cost several hundred dollars, window ledges on multi-million dollar buildings, these are two things I constantly see destroyed by cigarette butts. I can’t imagine rational adults being so wildly inconsiderate so as to burn and destroy another’s property all during their normal behavior. Normally, when adults engage in the destruction of property there is a reason. Sure, it’s an irrational reason, but when we destroy someone else’s property we know it’s wrong and if we are caught we expect to have to pay the penalty. A smoker has no idea that they are burning someone’s property. I wonder if I took a torch and burned the window ledges of a smoker’s house whether they could call the police. I could always claim that I am a torch addict and surely there would be no penalty.
What if those same window ledges were covered in needles, burned spoons and other paraphernalia? After all, the cigarette butt and associated flame is merely the paraphernalia that is required for the addict to get the nicotine in their blood stream.
I would bet that smokers that also happen to be addicted to crack cocaine would never think to leave their crack pipe on the trash can outside of the convenience store.
Sure there are smokers that don’t behave this way, but being a smoker in and of itself is inconsiderate because of the added burden on society. The rest of us pay the enormous costs to cover the medical care of the hopelessly nicotine addicted individuals. We make sure that the indigent get just enough cash through government handouts to provide them enough of their necessary drug to keep them from forming an uprising and causing a revolt.
My suggestion is that the next time you encounter an inconsiderate smoker; you should strike up a conversation and explain how you are also an addict. Tell the smoker that you are addicted to spitting. If you smell cigarette smoke, launch a wad of spit on the smoker. Your clothes will require cleaning to remove the smell of their smoke. Make it so their clothes require the same cleaning.
The addicts get to have all the fun. Go out and find your addiction and have some fun with it. Personally, I am addicted to payback and I would like to see smokers get some of what they shell out on the rest of us.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
How about Government really solves a problem.
Another from the archives. I believe his was originally published in early 2007.
I didn't make many friends with this one either.
The motivation for these columns usually comes from odd little events in my life. In this case, it’s several, completely separate events, but events that are similar and are all related to being out and about in automobiles.
The first in this particular chain of events was when I read a newspaper article about our legislature discussing the placement of a deposit on plastic cola and water bottles as a way to curb littering.
I am never in favor of government coming up with a solution which involves extracting more money, and effort, from the taxpayers. As I pondered the system of the “deposit” and how much of a hassle it truly is, I realized that it is just another “feel good” proposal that will make great headlines but will do little if anything to truly solve the problem.
The issue is that people that will throw garbage from their vehicle are societal degenerates and they will not change their behavior because the legislature passed a new law.
The whole deposit process is just like the rebate scheme utilized by manufacturers in their advertising. With rebates they know that only about 50% of the people will follow through with the entire process to get their rebate so it’s free money for the manufacturers. The deposit system is much the same. Who is going to go through the effort to hang onto their Aquafina or Pepsi plastic bottles just to get that nickel or dime back? The majority of the bottles will find their way to trash cans (or the roadside) and very few will be returned for that deposit.
Since the majority of the money will stay with the government, it is just taxation, but done with a smile on their faces.
Millions of dollars are spent every year producing commercials, print advertisements, public service announcements and billboards all trying to keep people from littering from their automobile. If all those efforts get one person to not litter, well that’s great, but there will always be a small portion of society who are just sick degenerates and they will continue to litter regardless of the situation.
I pulled into a Go-Mart yesterday and as I got out of the car there were three items on the ground. Two empty bottles of oil with their lids and there was a soiled diaper. Yes, the ground was where some individual, or individuals, chose to just drop empty oil bottles and a soiled baby diaper.
Now, these people are not well. These people are sick and don’t quite understand that they live on a planet with other people that shouldn’t have to pick up after them. Anyone that would leave a soiled diaper in the open for someone else to dispose of is a mentally defective individual and should have not only their child removed, but also their ability to reproduce.
Is some new law going to teach this caliber of people to change their behavior? Nope.
Do we really have to implement an entire system which costs everyone more time and money just so we can accommodate the worst among us? It’s truly “feel good” politics. Come up with something that will make you feel better but will truly not fix anything.
Here’s my proposal, and this is rooted in my personal observation and experience. In the last month, I don’t recall seeing more than one or two plastic bottles scattered on the roadside.
Conversely, I see dozens, if not hundreds, of cigarette butts littered everywhere. In fact, I have had 4, still burning, cigarette butts thrown from cars in front of me in the recent weeks.
Now, what is the defect in someone’s brain that leads them to believe that throwing a piece of burning compressed paper out of their moving vehicle is acceptable?
Smokers exhibit more callous disregard for their fellow man than almost any other group I can think of. In fact, I would bet a huge sum of money that whoever threw those oil containers and the soiled diaper on the ground were themselves smokers (it just fits the demographic)
The nerve of a driver finishing with their smoke and then tossing it out the window, it’s the height of anti-social behavior and I think I know a way to stop it.
We need to place a fifty-cent deposit on each cigarette butt. 20 cigarettes are contained in most packages so this would be a $10 dollar deposit for each package of cigarettes.
Now, I guarantee that if smokers had to pay $10 dollars just to get their cigarettes that they will never throw another butt out of their car window. These little pieces of paper will be cherished and treated like gold. I would wager that 90% of smokers would return each and every butt to the stores so they would get their deposit back.
This system would all but eliminate cigarette butt litter; it also might make more people think about their drug addiction and whether they want to allocate such a large portion of their income (and time) to such an addiction.
It’s time we punish the true offenders. Take up the call for my initiative to place a fifty cent deposit on the lowly cigarette butt. Stand around the door of any office building and look on the ground. There’s probably thirty dollars laying there right now.
Oh….Don’t throw things from your car.
Friday, October 17, 2008
A Police State (or Safety Nazis, or Protecting you from yourself)
And one I wrote that pissed off a few Police friends of mine.
I'm sorry, I understand what the true purpose of traffic enforcement is and it's only about 35% high and mighty concern for your safety. The rest is merely a way for governments to get money.
Read the article and you'll see my point of view. You don't have to agree, but you should wear your damn seat belt and maybe you won't get pulled over.
A Police State
The never-ending pursuit of safety
It seems that every spring I write about the increased police presence on the highways. Once the sun starts warming the ground, everyone spends more time in their cars and more time on the roads. It’s prime opportunity for the Police to swarm around and impose their own brand of taxation on driving by protecting us from ourselves in a relentless pursuit of safety.
What is safety? Can we truly ever achieve safety? You can be sitting in a chair in your own house and not be truly safe. In all facets of life, the only thing we can do is to try and behave in a fashion that affords us the greatest amount of safety.
We wear shoes so our feet are safe from sharp objects on the ground. We wear gloves in the snow so our hands are safe from frostbite. We make these personal decisions every day, but for some reason when we are on the highways, the government must make these decisions for us.
Through the relentless legislative process we now have a myriad of laws that impose safety upon us. Our cars are now 500 to 1000 pounds heavier than twenty years ago due to safety regulations. We are all forced, by the power of the Federal Government, to wear seat belts, again in a quest to make us safe.
What amazes me is how the Government uses this notion of safety and ideology that everything is “for the children” in order to strip away our privacy and subject us to searches and questioning by the Police all because we decided to go for a drive.
The next step simply must be random and unannounced Police inspections of our private homes. I know that I have items I could trip over in my bathroom. I also have some tennis shoes on my basement steps and surely that’s not safe. If the Police are allowed to impose safety upon us in our private vehicles, then why is it so silly to believe they aren’t headed for our private homes?
The truth is that these checkpoints are just another way to collect the various road taxes for the Government. The cars must pass through a gauntlet of officers all with a ticket book in hand. Even if you have your seat belt fastened, you still might have a burned out parking light or a dead inspection sticker. If you didn’t have to drive by these officers on display, they might have had to actually do Police work in order to nab you for those offenses.
Sure, I want to get drunk drivers off the road, but these checkpoints only catch drunks by accident. The drunk has to be on that road at that time in order to get caught. The news coverage always says that there was one or two DUI arrests but multiple tickets written for traffic infractions.
Those tickets are a gold mine for the municipality that writes them. It’s so profitable; I don’t understand why they don’t just do it every day. If these checkpoints pass constitutional scrutiny for occasional use, then why can’t they just set them up at the exit of Southridge and catch each and every driver that doesn’t have a current inspection sticker or bad registration.
These officers have a legitimate desire to have you belted up. They are the ones that must come upon your crash scene and they would much rather find your body (breathing or not) firmly secured to the seat. It gets messy when you are half way ejected from the car and none of these officers want to clean up the mess or inform your next of kin.
Everyone should wear seatbelts but why is there a law telling us to do it. It’s as if we are all 7 years old and our parents are telling us to not touch the stove when it’s hot. As adults there is nobody in our house now telling us to not touch the hot stove, but for some reason the Government gets in our car and tells us to buckle up.
Seat belts are an absolute necessity and if someone doesn’t buckle up they are making a horrible decision that could shorten or end their lives. Not wearing your seat belt could break the heart of your family members or children when they find out you have been killed. This is all very horrible stuff, but I could also disembowel myself with a steak knife but there is no federal law requiring me to have dull knives that are unable to break human flesh. If I am stupid enough to endanger myself by being unbelted in a car or by juggling steak knives, then it is my business to do so.
Just how did we allow the Police to get in our cars with us? It’s none of the business of the Federal Government whether I wear a safety belt. I agree, it’s the business of the Government if I drink while driving, but safety belts are not on that level.
In the past two weeks I have gone through a DUI Checkpoint and a Seat Belt Safety Awareness Checkpoint.
At the DUI Checkpoint, luckily I was in a completely legal car and completely sober. I was waived through and was only delayed for 90 seconds. Sure, I was visually examined by the Police and my automobile had to pass all their visual tests. If I had anything questionable about my vehicle I surely would have been pulled and ticketed. Without the checkpoint, the Police would have had to do genuine detective work and observe my vehicle in the wild in order to write me a ticket. It’s sort of like shooting fish in a barrel. If all the cars are going to drive right past you, you can enforce the vehicle code from a recliner.
The seat belt checkpoint was far more comical. It was Thursday at approx. 10:30pm and I was on my way to Wal-Mart for some impulse grocery purchases. The comical thing about this evening was that I had just licensed the vehicle I was driving. This particular vehicle had been in storage for three years and until that very afternoon didn’t have current registration.
On the prior weekend, my daily driver suffered a blown head gasket. After 3 days of procrastination, and borrowing something to drive, I decided to purchase insurance for my other vehicle and I headed to the DMV on that Thursday afternoon.
I left the DMV at 5:35pm went home and affixed my current license plate sticker. The car was now fully insured and registered in the State of West Virginia. The only problem was the dead State Inspection Sticker, which expired in 12/05, and a windshield suffering a crack from a rock. That blue sticker stood out like a neon sign on Las Vegas Boulevard, but I had already ordered a windshield and it would be here in 4 days.
I spent the evening cleaning the car and generally making it road worthy. Later I decided to drive the car for the first time on the public roads in three years. I was going to head to Wal-Mart for the dual purpose of seeing how the car did and to get some groceries.
Here’s where I made the conscious decision to be a law breaker. I was setting out on a criminal conspiracy to knowingly operate a motor vehicle with an expired inspection sticker. It was heady stuff for a law abiding citizen like me, but I figured that under the cloak of darkness, the chances of an officer seeing that blue 2005 sticker was quite small.
So, off I went and not 5 miles down the road I found myself in the clutches of a City of Charleston Seat Belt Safety Checkpoint. Damn, I was as nervous as if I was 9 beers into a 12 pack. I envisioned my car being towed and me being taken away in cuffs for such an overtly expired State Inspection sticker.
First off, I had probably a quarter of a mile of notice that there was a checkpoint ahead. There was even a flashing sign warning of a seat belt checkpoint. It’s during this period when they can’t yet see you that any moron that wasn’t previously wearing their seat belt SHOULD PUT IT ON. I can’t imagine anyone driving up to one of those checkpoints without their seat belt buckled. How stupid must you be to drive into a gauntlet of enforcement and flashing signs without quietly fastening the belt.
Anyway, so the officers are arranged about 20 feet apart. As I approached I could see the gleam in their eyes. They had spied a law breaker. That bright blue sticker might as well have a flashing light of guilt.
The first officer told me to pull forward and speak with the last officer on my left.
As I passed the other Officers, each of them were intently staring at my windshield. I felt like there was a bloody machete and a confession right there in plain view.
I stopped and smiled at the officer that they had selected for my inquisition. He told me that I would need to pull on the other side of the flashing pylons so we could talk further.
I pulled out my temporary registration from the DMV showing that I purchased the license sticker a mere 5 hours ago. I also handed him the, fresh off the fax, proof of car insurance for this vehicle.
Sounding like many criminals I have seen on Cops, I started vomiting out what I believed to be a perfectly rational defense for the expired sticker. I needed transportation (due to my other vehicle being dead), I had to order a windshield, and I was only driving the car tonight to test it out after being in storage for so long.
The young officer gave me that same look that we all see on Cops. The story was irrelevant. I was breaking the law and my colorful story didn’t mean a damn thing to him.
He took my paperwork and left me alone in the car to ponder all the prison movies that I had ever seen.
During the excruciating period when he was away, I had time to watch the officers at work tending to east bound traffic. Cars would approach and the officers would yell out to each other like they were claiming women in a bar. “I got the black truck, you get the red sedan”. These officers were clutching their tri-fold safety brochure in one hand but their ticket books were in the other. Under the ruse of passing out these silly pamphlets, one officer was checking out the front half of your car while others were inspecting the rear. You are forced to drive through so slow that the officers, standing elevated on the median, are afforded a clear, and sometimes flashlight aided, view right into your vehicle as you pass by.
All those pesky constitutional issues about unreasonable search and seizure, self-incrimination and probable cause are whisked away when you pass through one of these checkpoints.
My fresh faced interrogator finally returned with something for me to sign. Thankfully, this man had seen fit to allow this scoff-law off with a WARNING CITATION.
He had no other comment, other than to say that I could “tear it up and throw it away”. So, I didn’t get arrested and the gracious Charleston Police Department didn’t hit me with a costly tax on my law breaking drive through town on that fateful Thursday evening.
I spent a few more angst riddled days until my windshield came in. I ducked the cops like a parole violator. A simple trip to a friend’s home off of Edgewood took about ten extra minutes due to several impromptu turns to avoid a face to face encounter with the roaming police cruisers.
I don’t know how any true criminal could sleep at night. It’s a virtual Police State on the highways. With these Federal money grants in that elusive pursuit of safety, I think we are all going to be subject to more and more of these unreasonable checkpoints.
We will never be truly safe on the highways and I am simply of the belief that these checkpoints are misguided. The highly trained Police Officers are wasted while standing along a highway. Those 20 officers manning that checkpoint would have been able to cover miles and miles of highway doing true Police work.
Go forth and drive safely. Be nice to your Police officers.
I'm sorry, I understand what the true purpose of traffic enforcement is and it's only about 35% high and mighty concern for your safety. The rest is merely a way for governments to get money.
Read the article and you'll see my point of view. You don't have to agree, but you should wear your damn seat belt and maybe you won't get pulled over.
A Police State
The never-ending pursuit of safety
It seems that every spring I write about the increased police presence on the highways. Once the sun starts warming the ground, everyone spends more time in their cars and more time on the roads. It’s prime opportunity for the Police to swarm around and impose their own brand of taxation on driving by protecting us from ourselves in a relentless pursuit of safety.
What is safety? Can we truly ever achieve safety? You can be sitting in a chair in your own house and not be truly safe. In all facets of life, the only thing we can do is to try and behave in a fashion that affords us the greatest amount of safety.
We wear shoes so our feet are safe from sharp objects on the ground. We wear gloves in the snow so our hands are safe from frostbite. We make these personal decisions every day, but for some reason when we are on the highways, the government must make these decisions for us.
Through the relentless legislative process we now have a myriad of laws that impose safety upon us. Our cars are now 500 to 1000 pounds heavier than twenty years ago due to safety regulations. We are all forced, by the power of the Federal Government, to wear seat belts, again in a quest to make us safe.
What amazes me is how the Government uses this notion of safety and ideology that everything is “for the children” in order to strip away our privacy and subject us to searches and questioning by the Police all because we decided to go for a drive.
The next step simply must be random and unannounced Police inspections of our private homes. I know that I have items I could trip over in my bathroom. I also have some tennis shoes on my basement steps and surely that’s not safe. If the Police are allowed to impose safety upon us in our private vehicles, then why is it so silly to believe they aren’t headed for our private homes?
The truth is that these checkpoints are just another way to collect the various road taxes for the Government. The cars must pass through a gauntlet of officers all with a ticket book in hand. Even if you have your seat belt fastened, you still might have a burned out parking light or a dead inspection sticker. If you didn’t have to drive by these officers on display, they might have had to actually do Police work in order to nab you for those offenses.
Sure, I want to get drunk drivers off the road, but these checkpoints only catch drunks by accident. The drunk has to be on that road at that time in order to get caught. The news coverage always says that there was one or two DUI arrests but multiple tickets written for traffic infractions.
Those tickets are a gold mine for the municipality that writes them. It’s so profitable; I don’t understand why they don’t just do it every day. If these checkpoints pass constitutional scrutiny for occasional use, then why can’t they just set them up at the exit of Southridge and catch each and every driver that doesn’t have a current inspection sticker or bad registration.
These officers have a legitimate desire to have you belted up. They are the ones that must come upon your crash scene and they would much rather find your body (breathing or not) firmly secured to the seat. It gets messy when you are half way ejected from the car and none of these officers want to clean up the mess or inform your next of kin.
Everyone should wear seatbelts but why is there a law telling us to do it. It’s as if we are all 7 years old and our parents are telling us to not touch the stove when it’s hot. As adults there is nobody in our house now telling us to not touch the hot stove, but for some reason the Government gets in our car and tells us to buckle up.
Seat belts are an absolute necessity and if someone doesn’t buckle up they are making a horrible decision that could shorten or end their lives. Not wearing your seat belt could break the heart of your family members or children when they find out you have been killed. This is all very horrible stuff, but I could also disembowel myself with a steak knife but there is no federal law requiring me to have dull knives that are unable to break human flesh. If I am stupid enough to endanger myself by being unbelted in a car or by juggling steak knives, then it is my business to do so.
Just how did we allow the Police to get in our cars with us? It’s none of the business of the Federal Government whether I wear a safety belt. I agree, it’s the business of the Government if I drink while driving, but safety belts are not on that level.
In the past two weeks I have gone through a DUI Checkpoint and a Seat Belt Safety Awareness Checkpoint.
At the DUI Checkpoint, luckily I was in a completely legal car and completely sober. I was waived through and was only delayed for 90 seconds. Sure, I was visually examined by the Police and my automobile had to pass all their visual tests. If I had anything questionable about my vehicle I surely would have been pulled and ticketed. Without the checkpoint, the Police would have had to do genuine detective work and observe my vehicle in the wild in order to write me a ticket. It’s sort of like shooting fish in a barrel. If all the cars are going to drive right past you, you can enforce the vehicle code from a recliner.
The seat belt checkpoint was far more comical. It was Thursday at approx. 10:30pm and I was on my way to Wal-Mart for some impulse grocery purchases. The comical thing about this evening was that I had just licensed the vehicle I was driving. This particular vehicle had been in storage for three years and until that very afternoon didn’t have current registration.
On the prior weekend, my daily driver suffered a blown head gasket. After 3 days of procrastination, and borrowing something to drive, I decided to purchase insurance for my other vehicle and I headed to the DMV on that Thursday afternoon.
I left the DMV at 5:35pm went home and affixed my current license plate sticker. The car was now fully insured and registered in the State of West Virginia. The only problem was the dead State Inspection Sticker, which expired in 12/05, and a windshield suffering a crack from a rock. That blue sticker stood out like a neon sign on Las Vegas Boulevard, but I had already ordered a windshield and it would be here in 4 days.
I spent the evening cleaning the car and generally making it road worthy. Later I decided to drive the car for the first time on the public roads in three years. I was going to head to Wal-Mart for the dual purpose of seeing how the car did and to get some groceries.
Here’s where I made the conscious decision to be a law breaker. I was setting out on a criminal conspiracy to knowingly operate a motor vehicle with an expired inspection sticker. It was heady stuff for a law abiding citizen like me, but I figured that under the cloak of darkness, the chances of an officer seeing that blue 2005 sticker was quite small.
So, off I went and not 5 miles down the road I found myself in the clutches of a City of Charleston Seat Belt Safety Checkpoint. Damn, I was as nervous as if I was 9 beers into a 12 pack. I envisioned my car being towed and me being taken away in cuffs for such an overtly expired State Inspection sticker.
First off, I had probably a quarter of a mile of notice that there was a checkpoint ahead. There was even a flashing sign warning of a seat belt checkpoint. It’s during this period when they can’t yet see you that any moron that wasn’t previously wearing their seat belt SHOULD PUT IT ON. I can’t imagine anyone driving up to one of those checkpoints without their seat belt buckled. How stupid must you be to drive into a gauntlet of enforcement and flashing signs without quietly fastening the belt.
Anyway, so the officers are arranged about 20 feet apart. As I approached I could see the gleam in their eyes. They had spied a law breaker. That bright blue sticker might as well have a flashing light of guilt.
The first officer told me to pull forward and speak with the last officer on my left.
As I passed the other Officers, each of them were intently staring at my windshield. I felt like there was a bloody machete and a confession right there in plain view.
I stopped and smiled at the officer that they had selected for my inquisition. He told me that I would need to pull on the other side of the flashing pylons so we could talk further.
I pulled out my temporary registration from the DMV showing that I purchased the license sticker a mere 5 hours ago. I also handed him the, fresh off the fax, proof of car insurance for this vehicle.
Sounding like many criminals I have seen on Cops, I started vomiting out what I believed to be a perfectly rational defense for the expired sticker. I needed transportation (due to my other vehicle being dead), I had to order a windshield, and I was only driving the car tonight to test it out after being in storage for so long.
The young officer gave me that same look that we all see on Cops. The story was irrelevant. I was breaking the law and my colorful story didn’t mean a damn thing to him.
He took my paperwork and left me alone in the car to ponder all the prison movies that I had ever seen.
During the excruciating period when he was away, I had time to watch the officers at work tending to east bound traffic. Cars would approach and the officers would yell out to each other like they were claiming women in a bar. “I got the black truck, you get the red sedan”. These officers were clutching their tri-fold safety brochure in one hand but their ticket books were in the other. Under the ruse of passing out these silly pamphlets, one officer was checking out the front half of your car while others were inspecting the rear. You are forced to drive through so slow that the officers, standing elevated on the median, are afforded a clear, and sometimes flashlight aided, view right into your vehicle as you pass by.
All those pesky constitutional issues about unreasonable search and seizure, self-incrimination and probable cause are whisked away when you pass through one of these checkpoints.
My fresh faced interrogator finally returned with something for me to sign. Thankfully, this man had seen fit to allow this scoff-law off with a WARNING CITATION.
He had no other comment, other than to say that I could “tear it up and throw it away”. So, I didn’t get arrested and the gracious Charleston Police Department didn’t hit me with a costly tax on my law breaking drive through town on that fateful Thursday evening.
I spent a few more angst riddled days until my windshield came in. I ducked the cops like a parole violator. A simple trip to a friend’s home off of Edgewood took about ten extra minutes due to several impromptu turns to avoid a face to face encounter with the roaming police cruisers.
I don’t know how any true criminal could sleep at night. It’s a virtual Police State on the highways. With these Federal money grants in that elusive pursuit of safety, I think we are all going to be subject to more and more of these unreasonable checkpoints.
We will never be truly safe on the highways and I am simply of the belief that these checkpoints are misguided. The highly trained Police Officers are wasted while standing along a highway. Those 20 officers manning that checkpoint would have been able to cover miles and miles of highway doing true Police work.
Go forth and drive safely. Be nice to your Police officers.
Gourmet Meal (from out in the hall)
Another from the archives, a fun review of a great restaurant inside the Charleston Marriott.
I really took some flack for this one. Apparently the Marriott folks weren't very happy at my description of our seating area or the green slurry my entree was served in.
All in all, I liked the meal and have returned several times since. Naturally, I didn't identify myself when I went, but I have had great meals each time. (I particularly recommend the weekday lunch buffet or the weekend buffet. Great quality food)
I hope you find the humor artfully hidden inside this review.
Whitewater Grille
Inside The Charleston Marriott
My Brother-in-law has come along for three of my restaurant reviews. The first time, he was in town from California and I was sure he would be impressed by a meal at The Chop House. The meal was as impressive as the size of the check. The evening later became a very favorable review in this fine magazine.
The second meal was last summer when we stopped at Applebee’s for a quick bite. I had no intention of doing a review, but the service and food stood out in such a way that I was left with no choice but to tell everyone. It ended up being a rather poor review and the only one (so far) that has resulted in threats of physical violence (some fan of Applebee’s sent some very unsavory emails).
This time it was the evening of The State of The State Address by Governor Manchin. Everyone else had plans so my Brother-in-law and I decided to have dinner and, along the way, maybe a restaurant review.
I was drawn to Whitewater Grill. I had yet to visit the new restaurant in The Marriott and after being enticed by the advertisements, voiced by Mike Agnello, on local talk radio AM580, I thought it was high time that I had my first visit.
It was when we were navigating the, filled to capacity, parking building that I realized legislators were in town and that the Governor was doing his yearly speech. What a night to choose to go to The Marriott. The place would likely be crawling with politicos, lobbyists and their seedy entourages.
We finally found a rooftop parking space and made our way to the lobby of The Marriott. It had been several years since I was in that lobby and they sure have brought it up to date. Like many Charleston teenagers I visited the lobby on a few occasions in the 1980’s hoping to catch a glimpse of some touring rock star. The place looks far better now and nothing reminded me of the gaudy interior I remember from a long time ago.
On the west end of the lobby level is the where you will find Whitewater Grille. The restaurant is entered through a non descript door and you are greeted with a small host counter and a nice view of the well lit and very attractive bar in the center of the restaurant.
We surveyed the interior and the few Whitewater related decorations and waited for someone to seat us. There wasn’t a sign, but we both assumed we were to wait to be seated.
While waiting at the door we observed that the party at the bar was in full swing. The crowd was definitely adults, almost exclusively men in suits and women in nice evening wear. It was definitely the politicians and the people that tend to be always within earshot of a politician. If only that bar could talk.
A waiter finished up tending to a nearby table, noticed us, grabbed a couple menus and invited us to follow. We were escorted across the front of the bar and right past all the nicely appointed tables that make up the front part of the restaurant. As I admired the beautiful tables bathed in nice lighting, I was even more eager to reach my table.
Unfortunately, our host kept walking and escorted us to a brightly lit area on the far side of the restaurant. We were seated at a small two seat table along a wall. This table had none of the ambiance, nice lighting or great view of the outside world afforded by the tables along the front of the restaurant. In fact, there was no view at all. We were seated beside what looked like a food service bar The wall supporting the foodservice area totally blocked us from being able to see the bar and gave the immediate area the feel of a hallway. We all know how hotels are mostly long hallways and as I was sitting there trying to absorb the menu I had the feeling that I was sitting in the hallway outside someone’s hotel room.
We could hear the people having fun at the bar, but we couldn’t see anything. It was sort of like being in detention. My immediate thought was that these “hallway” tables surely must be just for overflow, but I noted several open and ready tables in the luxurious area along the front windows. If only, I had the nerve to ask to be moved to a proper table.
In spite of my immediate hate for the tiny table, the uncomfortable chair and harsh lighting, our waiter was an instant consummate professional and got us pointed in the right direction. He quickly returned with our drink orders, he advised us of the specials and he left to give us a few minutes to ponder the seemingly enormous menu.
Speaking of the menu, it was probably half as thick as a Charleston phone book. It was heavy and upon first opening I wondered just how much food this restaurant had to offer. What I expected to be a lengthy review turned out to be a reasonable easy read because the menu is actually only 4 pages but each paper is inserted into 1/16th inch backing. I suppose that these types of menu holders make a nice presentation, but it seems over the top to me.
The menu is broken up into sections paying homage to the Whitewater theme of the restaurant. Appetizers are called “Check In”. Salads and soups are “The Put In” and “Eddy Out”. Sandwiches are “Class III”, Entrees are “Class IV” and desserts round out the menu as “The Take Out”. There is also an introduction page that gives some Whitewater information.
As much as I am soon going to tell you that I liked the food, I was honestly left a bit cold by the Whitewater theme. First, it’s obviously a restaurant space in a nice hotel. There are a few kayaks on the walls and some miscellaneous small pieces from the Whitewater hobby affixed here and there, but they didn’t take the theme very far. If the Marriott decided that this space will tomorrow contain a French style bistro, it wouldn’t take more than an hour to strip Whitewater Grill of all evidence of a Whitewater theme.
I was obviously eating in a high ceiling hotel space and, while it wasn’t helped by my seating in the hallway, there was nothing in range of my eyes that made me even remotely inquisitive about the Whitewater hobby. It’s really not a complaint, but I just wasn’t moved by the theme.
While we were finishing our review of the menu, the waiter brought some rolls and two types of butter. One was a flavored butter which tasted good, but was sadly accompanied by cold rolls. I guess I am spoiled by warm bread so I would have liked something warm in the nice basket, but they were tasty nonetheless.
The decisions were reached and we summoned Florin to take our orders. My Brother-in-law started with the French onion soup. Since I had to have something to write about, I decided that I needed the “Big Three” sampler appetizer platter (see how I suffer for my art).
For our entrees, he selected the “Class V Seared Salmon”. I kept with the nautical theme and selected the “Class V Grilled Sea Bass”.
Trust me, these were difficult decisions. The menu is deep with selections and everything is described so eloquently. I wanted to try at least six or seven things. The appetizers include the expected cheese fries and shrimp cocktail, but also throws in Portobello fries, egg rolls, quesadillas and coconut shrimp. I will definitely have to sample some of those.
The salad selection is also wide. Considering that Whitewater Grill brought one of their signature salads to the Taste of Charleston, they sure must be proud of what they serve. There is a simple house salad, an iceberg wedge and a Caesar. They also offer some entrée salads including a steak and bleu cheese, a buffalo chicken an Asian and a chicken salad. That selection alone should keep salad lovers returning for multiple meals.
The sandwiches sounded almost impressive enough to keep me from ordering the Sea Bass. There is a crab cake sandwich a Reuben, a cheese steak and barbeque sandwich. The burger on the menu is just listed as “Build a Burger”. I like that. I don’t need any snazzy personalities given to my burgers. Just let me order what I want and you assemble it for me.
The entrees include the aforementioned Salmon and Sea Bass. There is also a Swordfish Parmesan and lowly Fish and Chips. I also noted a couple of steaks, some tasty sounding pasta and even a stir fry.
When you throw in a dessert menu with Jack Daniels Bread Pudding, Cheesecake, Apple Crisp, among others, you have what sure sounds like a very well rounded restaurant that is offering something to please anyone in your group.
It was truly surreal sitting at our table. We could hear the groups of people having a grand old time at the bar but we couldn’t see a damn thing. Meanwhile, we were alone in our hallway awaiting our appetizers.
My Appetizer sampler and Keith’s French Onion Soup arrived and both looked great. He reported the soup had great flavor but visually, I thought it was missing the customary large crouton and river of melting cheese, but he didn’t seem to miss it as much as my eyes did.
The sampler of appetizers included the Coconut Shrimp, boneless wings and a quesadilla. I am pretty easy to please so starting with the quesadilla, it was fantastic. Sure, it was plain, but you simply can’t beat melted cheese.
The boneless wings were a bit too spicy for me, but I promise that anyone with a normal taste for spicy wings would have loved them. The coconut shrimp was a particular treat and will lead me to get this same thing again on the next trip. These shrimp were excellent.
The plate included a trio of sauces, bleu cheese, salsa and sour cream. It was plenty of appetizer for two (and maybe three) and a perfect start to my meal.
Florin cleaned our table and soon brought our fish entrees. Keith’s Salmon arrived on a charred cedar plank with a citrus gremolata with wild rice and fresh vegetables.
My Sea Bass came looking like it was the most perfect piece of fish ever. It was sitting over wild rice and roasted peppers in an avocado broth.
Both of these entrees looked like something you would see in a world class restaurant. These were obviously cooked and plated by true Chefs. The food was arranged in a beautiful and professional way and the presentation was just about as good as it could get.
I am told the Salmon had a great flavor and was a great meal. There were absolutely no complaints from the other side of the table.
Me, well I didn’t want to touch the food art before me. The fish truly looked too good to disturb. I will make one comment about the avocado broth. The word broth led me to believe it would be a light watery sauce probably drizzled on the plate for color and effect.
The chef went in a complete different direction and the avocado broth was a thick bright green slurry and it was a quarter inch thick covering the entire bottom of the plate. The fish was an island in the middle sitting on the wild rice. The green color of the avocado broth was almost an overpowering visual and I am sure it might turn some people off, but trust me, it was fantastic.
It took only a single dip of the fork for me to determine that the avocado broth was a perfect compliment to the fish and when I was done, there was barely any evidence that it was there.
The Sea Bass was so perfectly cooked that it almost melted. It was just an entirely satisfying dish and a perfect way to round out this meal.
I have had a lot of bland and poorly cooked and presented fish here in Charleston. In fact, my experiences are primarily why I usually stick with steak. It’s just far more likely that you will get a well cooked steak. Obviously Whitewater Grill has some talented Chefs and I truly hope you let them make some fish for you.
Neither of us had room for dessert so that will have to come on another visit.
On some levels, this is an unfair review. I have only been there one time and I haven’t experienced even a tenth of what they have to offer. I know they have a lunch buffet, a burger special during the week and how can I give a fair review after only trying a single entrée? Well, I just can. The food and service was good enough that I know the other food on the menu must be of a similar caliber. If these guys can cook fish like I was given, then I am sure they do amazing things with their 12oz Ribeye or the Filet.
Sure, I made fun of my table and I am at a loss to understand why such a well thought out dining establishment would allow those silly tables in that location. Those tiny tables and crappy chairs under the harsh hallway lights have no business being used in that restaurant. If they try to sit me there again, I will definitely ask for one of the prime tables along the Washington Street windows. Or, I will sit by the bar, but I will dine safely and not speak to any politicians.
Our meal with soup, an appetizer (for two), a couple of drinks from the bar and the two fish entrees came in at $62.55. Definitely not inexpensive, but you can easily spend this amount in any of the big box franchise restaurants at Southridge, but what fun would that be. Do something different and ignore the slight inconvenience associated with parking and break your usual tendency to drive to Southridge. Enjoy downtown Charleston and eat at a restaurant that deserves to be experienced. Visit Whitewater Grill.
I really took some flack for this one. Apparently the Marriott folks weren't very happy at my description of our seating area or the green slurry my entree was served in.
All in all, I liked the meal and have returned several times since. Naturally, I didn't identify myself when I went, but I have had great meals each time. (I particularly recommend the weekday lunch buffet or the weekend buffet. Great quality food)
I hope you find the humor artfully hidden inside this review.
Whitewater Grille
Inside The Charleston Marriott
My Brother-in-law has come along for three of my restaurant reviews. The first time, he was in town from California and I was sure he would be impressed by a meal at The Chop House. The meal was as impressive as the size of the check. The evening later became a very favorable review in this fine magazine.
The second meal was last summer when we stopped at Applebee’s for a quick bite. I had no intention of doing a review, but the service and food stood out in such a way that I was left with no choice but to tell everyone. It ended up being a rather poor review and the only one (so far) that has resulted in threats of physical violence (some fan of Applebee’s sent some very unsavory emails).
This time it was the evening of The State of The State Address by Governor Manchin. Everyone else had plans so my Brother-in-law and I decided to have dinner and, along the way, maybe a restaurant review.
I was drawn to Whitewater Grill. I had yet to visit the new restaurant in The Marriott and after being enticed by the advertisements, voiced by Mike Agnello, on local talk radio AM580, I thought it was high time that I had my first visit.
It was when we were navigating the, filled to capacity, parking building that I realized legislators were in town and that the Governor was doing his yearly speech. What a night to choose to go to The Marriott. The place would likely be crawling with politicos, lobbyists and their seedy entourages.
We finally found a rooftop parking space and made our way to the lobby of The Marriott. It had been several years since I was in that lobby and they sure have brought it up to date. Like many Charleston teenagers I visited the lobby on a few occasions in the 1980’s hoping to catch a glimpse of some touring rock star. The place looks far better now and nothing reminded me of the gaudy interior I remember from a long time ago.
On the west end of the lobby level is the where you will find Whitewater Grille. The restaurant is entered through a non descript door and you are greeted with a small host counter and a nice view of the well lit and very attractive bar in the center of the restaurant.
We surveyed the interior and the few Whitewater related decorations and waited for someone to seat us. There wasn’t a sign, but we both assumed we were to wait to be seated.
While waiting at the door we observed that the party at the bar was in full swing. The crowd was definitely adults, almost exclusively men in suits and women in nice evening wear. It was definitely the politicians and the people that tend to be always within earshot of a politician. If only that bar could talk.
A waiter finished up tending to a nearby table, noticed us, grabbed a couple menus and invited us to follow. We were escorted across the front of the bar and right past all the nicely appointed tables that make up the front part of the restaurant. As I admired the beautiful tables bathed in nice lighting, I was even more eager to reach my table.
Unfortunately, our host kept walking and escorted us to a brightly lit area on the far side of the restaurant. We were seated at a small two seat table along a wall. This table had none of the ambiance, nice lighting or great view of the outside world afforded by the tables along the front of the restaurant. In fact, there was no view at all. We were seated beside what looked like a food service bar The wall supporting the foodservice area totally blocked us from being able to see the bar and gave the immediate area the feel of a hallway. We all know how hotels are mostly long hallways and as I was sitting there trying to absorb the menu I had the feeling that I was sitting in the hallway outside someone’s hotel room.
We could hear the people having fun at the bar, but we couldn’t see anything. It was sort of like being in detention. My immediate thought was that these “hallway” tables surely must be just for overflow, but I noted several open and ready tables in the luxurious area along the front windows. If only, I had the nerve to ask to be moved to a proper table.
In spite of my immediate hate for the tiny table, the uncomfortable chair and harsh lighting, our waiter was an instant consummate professional and got us pointed in the right direction. He quickly returned with our drink orders, he advised us of the specials and he left to give us a few minutes to ponder the seemingly enormous menu.
Speaking of the menu, it was probably half as thick as a Charleston phone book. It was heavy and upon first opening I wondered just how much food this restaurant had to offer. What I expected to be a lengthy review turned out to be a reasonable easy read because the menu is actually only 4 pages but each paper is inserted into 1/16th inch backing. I suppose that these types of menu holders make a nice presentation, but it seems over the top to me.
The menu is broken up into sections paying homage to the Whitewater theme of the restaurant. Appetizers are called “Check In”. Salads and soups are “The Put In” and “Eddy Out”. Sandwiches are “Class III”, Entrees are “Class IV” and desserts round out the menu as “The Take Out”. There is also an introduction page that gives some Whitewater information.
As much as I am soon going to tell you that I liked the food, I was honestly left a bit cold by the Whitewater theme. First, it’s obviously a restaurant space in a nice hotel. There are a few kayaks on the walls and some miscellaneous small pieces from the Whitewater hobby affixed here and there, but they didn’t take the theme very far. If the Marriott decided that this space will tomorrow contain a French style bistro, it wouldn’t take more than an hour to strip Whitewater Grill of all evidence of a Whitewater theme.
I was obviously eating in a high ceiling hotel space and, while it wasn’t helped by my seating in the hallway, there was nothing in range of my eyes that made me even remotely inquisitive about the Whitewater hobby. It’s really not a complaint, but I just wasn’t moved by the theme.
While we were finishing our review of the menu, the waiter brought some rolls and two types of butter. One was a flavored butter which tasted good, but was sadly accompanied by cold rolls. I guess I am spoiled by warm bread so I would have liked something warm in the nice basket, but they were tasty nonetheless.
The decisions were reached and we summoned Florin to take our orders. My Brother-in-law started with the French onion soup. Since I had to have something to write about, I decided that I needed the “Big Three” sampler appetizer platter (see how I suffer for my art).
For our entrees, he selected the “Class V Seared Salmon”. I kept with the nautical theme and selected the “Class V Grilled Sea Bass”.
Trust me, these were difficult decisions. The menu is deep with selections and everything is described so eloquently. I wanted to try at least six or seven things. The appetizers include the expected cheese fries and shrimp cocktail, but also throws in Portobello fries, egg rolls, quesadillas and coconut shrimp. I will definitely have to sample some of those.
The salad selection is also wide. Considering that Whitewater Grill brought one of their signature salads to the Taste of Charleston, they sure must be proud of what they serve. There is a simple house salad, an iceberg wedge and a Caesar. They also offer some entrée salads including a steak and bleu cheese, a buffalo chicken an Asian and a chicken salad. That selection alone should keep salad lovers returning for multiple meals.
The sandwiches sounded almost impressive enough to keep me from ordering the Sea Bass. There is a crab cake sandwich a Reuben, a cheese steak and barbeque sandwich. The burger on the menu is just listed as “Build a Burger”. I like that. I don’t need any snazzy personalities given to my burgers. Just let me order what I want and you assemble it for me.
The entrees include the aforementioned Salmon and Sea Bass. There is also a Swordfish Parmesan and lowly Fish and Chips. I also noted a couple of steaks, some tasty sounding pasta and even a stir fry.
When you throw in a dessert menu with Jack Daniels Bread Pudding, Cheesecake, Apple Crisp, among others, you have what sure sounds like a very well rounded restaurant that is offering something to please anyone in your group.
It was truly surreal sitting at our table. We could hear the groups of people having a grand old time at the bar but we couldn’t see a damn thing. Meanwhile, we were alone in our hallway awaiting our appetizers.
My Appetizer sampler and Keith’s French Onion Soup arrived and both looked great. He reported the soup had great flavor but visually, I thought it was missing the customary large crouton and river of melting cheese, but he didn’t seem to miss it as much as my eyes did.
The sampler of appetizers included the Coconut Shrimp, boneless wings and a quesadilla. I am pretty easy to please so starting with the quesadilla, it was fantastic. Sure, it was plain, but you simply can’t beat melted cheese.
The boneless wings were a bit too spicy for me, but I promise that anyone with a normal taste for spicy wings would have loved them. The coconut shrimp was a particular treat and will lead me to get this same thing again on the next trip. These shrimp were excellent.
The plate included a trio of sauces, bleu cheese, salsa and sour cream. It was plenty of appetizer for two (and maybe three) and a perfect start to my meal.
Florin cleaned our table and soon brought our fish entrees. Keith’s Salmon arrived on a charred cedar plank with a citrus gremolata with wild rice and fresh vegetables.
My Sea Bass came looking like it was the most perfect piece of fish ever. It was sitting over wild rice and roasted peppers in an avocado broth.
Both of these entrees looked like something you would see in a world class restaurant. These were obviously cooked and plated by true Chefs. The food was arranged in a beautiful and professional way and the presentation was just about as good as it could get.
I am told the Salmon had a great flavor and was a great meal. There were absolutely no complaints from the other side of the table.
Me, well I didn’t want to touch the food art before me. The fish truly looked too good to disturb. I will make one comment about the avocado broth. The word broth led me to believe it would be a light watery sauce probably drizzled on the plate for color and effect.
The chef went in a complete different direction and the avocado broth was a thick bright green slurry and it was a quarter inch thick covering the entire bottom of the plate. The fish was an island in the middle sitting on the wild rice. The green color of the avocado broth was almost an overpowering visual and I am sure it might turn some people off, but trust me, it was fantastic.
It took only a single dip of the fork for me to determine that the avocado broth was a perfect compliment to the fish and when I was done, there was barely any evidence that it was there.
The Sea Bass was so perfectly cooked that it almost melted. It was just an entirely satisfying dish and a perfect way to round out this meal.
I have had a lot of bland and poorly cooked and presented fish here in Charleston. In fact, my experiences are primarily why I usually stick with steak. It’s just far more likely that you will get a well cooked steak. Obviously Whitewater Grill has some talented Chefs and I truly hope you let them make some fish for you.
Neither of us had room for dessert so that will have to come on another visit.
On some levels, this is an unfair review. I have only been there one time and I haven’t experienced even a tenth of what they have to offer. I know they have a lunch buffet, a burger special during the week and how can I give a fair review after only trying a single entrée? Well, I just can. The food and service was good enough that I know the other food on the menu must be of a similar caliber. If these guys can cook fish like I was given, then I am sure they do amazing things with their 12oz Ribeye or the Filet.
Sure, I made fun of my table and I am at a loss to understand why such a well thought out dining establishment would allow those silly tables in that location. Those tiny tables and crappy chairs under the harsh hallway lights have no business being used in that restaurant. If they try to sit me there again, I will definitely ask for one of the prime tables along the Washington Street windows. Or, I will sit by the bar, but I will dine safely and not speak to any politicians.
Our meal with soup, an appetizer (for two), a couple of drinks from the bar and the two fish entrees came in at $62.55. Definitely not inexpensive, but you can easily spend this amount in any of the big box franchise restaurants at Southridge, but what fun would that be. Do something different and ignore the slight inconvenience associated with parking and break your usual tendency to drive to Southridge. Enjoy downtown Charleston and eat at a restaurant that deserves to be experienced. Visit Whitewater Grill.
Communal Dining (Hot Food Trend Circa 2007)
Yet another from the dusty archives as I attempt to bring this blog back from its two year hibernation.
This review was published back in early 2007 when this restaurant opened. It was fun, but just not the type of dining I want to do every time. I liken it to "Chuckie Cheese's" for adults. It's just a bit too "active" for me. Sometimes I just want to relax with someone at a meal and not be part of entertainment.
Let me know what you think.
HIBACHI
Japanese Steakhouse
Southridge
So I had a few minutes in a waiting room and I picked up a Time magazine. Does anyone ever read these types of magazines anywhere but in a waiting room?
Anyway, I came across an article on the newest restaurant trends and the writer talked about “communal dining” and how it is quickly becoming the hottest restaurant trend of 2007.
They defined communal dining much as I imagine you readers are defining it. Basically, you are seated at a huge table with complete strangers and have a restaurant dining experience while meeting and socializing with new people.
As I read the page length column I was slowly overcome with the same uncomfortable feelings that I would experience if I was forced to sit at a table with a bunch of strangers. I know there are people that look at every day as another opportunity to meet new people, but personally, I look to meals at nice restaurants, be it on a date or with friends, as an opportunity to not have to deal with the general public. I don’t want to have to go through the efforts of meeting, and tolerating, new people all while paying big money for a restaurant experience that is being ruined by these strangers at my dining table.
Give me a quiet booth in the corner or a table with my friends and that is a proper restaurant experience. An after church luncheon or maybe a wedding reception are, in my mind, the only places where one should have to experience eating while seated with a complete stranger who is firing question after question trying to have a conversation with you while your mouth is full.
It was a bit of kismet that I read that article on communal dining because I had recently dined at a restaurant that bases its experience on being communal. Part dinner theater, part comedy show, eating at Hibachi Japanese Steakhouse at Southridge is an experience unlike any of the other Asian restaurants in the area.
To be fair to Hibachi, I have only made a single visit. I enjoyed my meal and can, without hesitation, recommend the food. I look forward to future visits so I can experience the Sushi and I can only imagine that the show that comes along with the dinner varies with each meal.
Hibachi is a restaurant that utilizes a style popularized in the United States by a Rocky Aoki in 1964 when he opened the first Benihana Restaurant in New York City. The concept was to use trained Japanese Chefs to prepare the meal at the table, in front of the guests, in a dynamic and flamboyant style which owed much to the Japanese Teppanyaki style of cooking.
Teppanyaki literally means grilling on an iron plate and that is exactly what the chefs do while standing at an iron grill surrounded on three sides by restaurant customers.
So that’s what you have, like I said, it’s part dinner theatre and it is definitely not a place you go for quiet conversation. In fact, until the cooking show is over, it’s more akin to going to a movie or play because your interaction with your friends is limited to laughing and nodding at the show being performed before your eyes.
It’s a great restaurant for celebrations or gatherings of friends but I doubt it would be at the top of anyone’s list for a simple date or dinner gathering.
My trip to Hibachi was on a very sunny evening. Our party of four was quickly met at the door by a smiling hostess and we were led through the restaurant to our table.
The interior, aside from the abundant bricks, bears no resemblance to the former occupant Pizzeria Uno. In fact, the mild Asian redecoration was very tasteful and brought a lot of nice color to the previously drab décor.
The table/grill combination are very large structures and the main dining room appeared to only have maybe 10-15 separate tables with their connected grill station.
Each table has semi-circular seating for between six to eight people. Elbow room can be tight, but if you can keep them from jamming in too many people, the shallow tables are quite comfortable.
I would imagine that everyone that comes to a restaurant of this type already knows what to expect. You pretty much know that a chef will come and prepare the food, he will throw shrimp at you and it will be a laughing and talking experience for all. Even with the popularity and general knowledge of this type of dining, I did feel that we would get some sort of primer or explanation from the waitress. Well, I was wrong.
I wasn’t in my chair for more than 30 seconds before I came to realize that the 3 empty seats to my left would not remain vacant. It was my worst nightmare. In fact, as we walked in the door, I quietly stated to my friends that I didn’t want to be seated by some strangers and I particularly didn’t want to have a screaming baby at my table.
I have to learn to watch my comments because the hostess brought and seated three adults and a diaper clad baby at our table. I was thrilled.
The waitress soon appeared but she also gave no explanation about the procedures and gave no assistance with the menu (which I found to be complicated and very difficult to read).
The menu goes on for pages and is printed in a cursive font that even with my great eyesight just seemed difficult to read. There is little explanation provided with the different categories and given that you are seated at the grill, it’s hard to imagine how the different selections may change the dining experience. I just would have appreciated a brief presentation from the waitress explaining how the “show” is performed and which selections make good combinations.
Basically, you choose a protein (meat or seafood) and that is paired with a salad some rice and vegetables. The combinations are endless but given that everyone’s food is all cooked together, it seems that everything ended up being, more or less, the same.
Don’t get me wrong, but when you witness the procedure in front of your eyes, you kind of get insight to how restaurants really work. Entrees are all basically the same dish and they only differ in what meat is being served.
Eventually, the waitress returned and each of us worked through our selection. The four of us all got essentially the same thing but we each chose a different meat. The strangers at our table weren’t quite ready yet and herein lies one of the problems with communal dining. They were feeding the baby with baby food and hadn’t selected their meals. They were delaying our meal and seemed completely oblivious. After all, our chef and the show can’t begin until everyone has made their order.
It took the waitress two more trips to our table (and refills of our drinks) before our table mates saw fit to make a menu selection.
Once the order is made, I determined that the waitress goes to the assigned Chef and he assembles the ingredients and places everything on a little rolling cart. He leaves the kitchen with everything he needs to cook the meal and complete his performance.
Soon the Chef arrives and the show begins with the turning on of the loud exhaust fan. Conversation pretty much goes out the window once this jet engine fan is running. There is lots of laughing and nodding but it is difficult to hear much between the sounds of grilling and loud fan.
All the fresh ingredients are displayed and here is one place where you definitely see the quality of what you are paying for. Is there anything more enticing than a juicy red steak or a pile of fresh looking shrimp? The Chef artfully slices and dices each ingredient and then displays knife and spatula skills that made this amateur Chef quite jealous.
It was fun when the four foot fireball part of the show made the baby next to me scream and cry. I had to wonder if this type of restaurant, with flames and a red hot grill mere inches away, was the best place to bring a diaper clad infant.
With the screams of a baby on the left of me and the delicious noise of cooking steak in front of me, I realized that I was all but unable to communicate with the friends to my right. I attempted conversation but it is really difficult. You end up feeling alone while watching the show unfold before you.
The Chef serves up a salad and some rice and you can work through that while waiting on your meat. It really is a tasty, fresh and high quality tasting meal, but I just didn’t really enjoy eating it because of all the distractions.
I was here with two old friends and a new friend. With all the noise and commotion, it was the latter part of the meal before I really had a chance to get to know the new friend sitting beside me. It’s definitely not the place to take a date or to go to reminisce with friends.
Along those same lines, conversation is further hindered by the fact that everyone is sitting shoulder to shoulder. The common across table banter is not possible because you are sitting in a row. Every communication is left to right and around other people’s heads.
As the last bit of hot food is delivered, the Chef takes a bow, there is applause and then he turns off the loud fan. Everyone exhales in a sigh of relief, but then the Chef at the next table turns on his fan (six feet away) and the noise is back.
Once the Chef is gone, you quickly become aware that your show is over and the staff would like you to quickly finish your meal and clear the area for the next batch of guests. The place isn’t making money when that grill isn’t being used. It’s not a place where you linger over coffee while discussing the day’s events.
Overall, it’s a fun experience. The food is very good and presents many options to explore. The Chef makes sure he puts on a good show and that is the highlight of the meal. A nice entrée will come in around twenty bucks (or less) so it’s not even very expensive.
Hibachi is the type of restaurant that deserves to thrive. Charleston doesn’t have enough “different” places to dine and I hope Hibachi is very successful. It’s not my cup of tea for every meal, but for a fun and entertaining night when conversation isn’t a priority, it’s a great place to go.
Enjoy.
This review was published back in early 2007 when this restaurant opened. It was fun, but just not the type of dining I want to do every time. I liken it to "Chuckie Cheese's" for adults. It's just a bit too "active" for me. Sometimes I just want to relax with someone at a meal and not be part of entertainment.
Let me know what you think.
HIBACHI
Japanese Steakhouse
Southridge
So I had a few minutes in a waiting room and I picked up a Time magazine. Does anyone ever read these types of magazines anywhere but in a waiting room?
Anyway, I came across an article on the newest restaurant trends and the writer talked about “communal dining” and how it is quickly becoming the hottest restaurant trend of 2007.
They defined communal dining much as I imagine you readers are defining it. Basically, you are seated at a huge table with complete strangers and have a restaurant dining experience while meeting and socializing with new people.
As I read the page length column I was slowly overcome with the same uncomfortable feelings that I would experience if I was forced to sit at a table with a bunch of strangers. I know there are people that look at every day as another opportunity to meet new people, but personally, I look to meals at nice restaurants, be it on a date or with friends, as an opportunity to not have to deal with the general public. I don’t want to have to go through the efforts of meeting, and tolerating, new people all while paying big money for a restaurant experience that is being ruined by these strangers at my dining table.
Give me a quiet booth in the corner or a table with my friends and that is a proper restaurant experience. An after church luncheon or maybe a wedding reception are, in my mind, the only places where one should have to experience eating while seated with a complete stranger who is firing question after question trying to have a conversation with you while your mouth is full.
It was a bit of kismet that I read that article on communal dining because I had recently dined at a restaurant that bases its experience on being communal. Part dinner theater, part comedy show, eating at Hibachi Japanese Steakhouse at Southridge is an experience unlike any of the other Asian restaurants in the area.
To be fair to Hibachi, I have only made a single visit. I enjoyed my meal and can, without hesitation, recommend the food. I look forward to future visits so I can experience the Sushi and I can only imagine that the show that comes along with the dinner varies with each meal.
Hibachi is a restaurant that utilizes a style popularized in the United States by a Rocky Aoki in 1964 when he opened the first Benihana Restaurant in New York City. The concept was to use trained Japanese Chefs to prepare the meal at the table, in front of the guests, in a dynamic and flamboyant style which owed much to the Japanese Teppanyaki style of cooking.
Teppanyaki literally means grilling on an iron plate and that is exactly what the chefs do while standing at an iron grill surrounded on three sides by restaurant customers.
So that’s what you have, like I said, it’s part dinner theatre and it is definitely not a place you go for quiet conversation. In fact, until the cooking show is over, it’s more akin to going to a movie or play because your interaction with your friends is limited to laughing and nodding at the show being performed before your eyes.
It’s a great restaurant for celebrations or gatherings of friends but I doubt it would be at the top of anyone’s list for a simple date or dinner gathering.
My trip to Hibachi was on a very sunny evening. Our party of four was quickly met at the door by a smiling hostess and we were led through the restaurant to our table.
The interior, aside from the abundant bricks, bears no resemblance to the former occupant Pizzeria Uno. In fact, the mild Asian redecoration was very tasteful and brought a lot of nice color to the previously drab décor.
The table/grill combination are very large structures and the main dining room appeared to only have maybe 10-15 separate tables with their connected grill station.
Each table has semi-circular seating for between six to eight people. Elbow room can be tight, but if you can keep them from jamming in too many people, the shallow tables are quite comfortable.
I would imagine that everyone that comes to a restaurant of this type already knows what to expect. You pretty much know that a chef will come and prepare the food, he will throw shrimp at you and it will be a laughing and talking experience for all. Even with the popularity and general knowledge of this type of dining, I did feel that we would get some sort of primer or explanation from the waitress. Well, I was wrong.
I wasn’t in my chair for more than 30 seconds before I came to realize that the 3 empty seats to my left would not remain vacant. It was my worst nightmare. In fact, as we walked in the door, I quietly stated to my friends that I didn’t want to be seated by some strangers and I particularly didn’t want to have a screaming baby at my table.
I have to learn to watch my comments because the hostess brought and seated three adults and a diaper clad baby at our table. I was thrilled.
The waitress soon appeared but she also gave no explanation about the procedures and gave no assistance with the menu (which I found to be complicated and very difficult to read).
The menu goes on for pages and is printed in a cursive font that even with my great eyesight just seemed difficult to read. There is little explanation provided with the different categories and given that you are seated at the grill, it’s hard to imagine how the different selections may change the dining experience. I just would have appreciated a brief presentation from the waitress explaining how the “show” is performed and which selections make good combinations.
Basically, you choose a protein (meat or seafood) and that is paired with a salad some rice and vegetables. The combinations are endless but given that everyone’s food is all cooked together, it seems that everything ended up being, more or less, the same.
Don’t get me wrong, but when you witness the procedure in front of your eyes, you kind of get insight to how restaurants really work. Entrees are all basically the same dish and they only differ in what meat is being served.
Eventually, the waitress returned and each of us worked through our selection. The four of us all got essentially the same thing but we each chose a different meat. The strangers at our table weren’t quite ready yet and herein lies one of the problems with communal dining. They were feeding the baby with baby food and hadn’t selected their meals. They were delaying our meal and seemed completely oblivious. After all, our chef and the show can’t begin until everyone has made their order.
It took the waitress two more trips to our table (and refills of our drinks) before our table mates saw fit to make a menu selection.
Once the order is made, I determined that the waitress goes to the assigned Chef and he assembles the ingredients and places everything on a little rolling cart. He leaves the kitchen with everything he needs to cook the meal and complete his performance.
Soon the Chef arrives and the show begins with the turning on of the loud exhaust fan. Conversation pretty much goes out the window once this jet engine fan is running. There is lots of laughing and nodding but it is difficult to hear much between the sounds of grilling and loud fan.
All the fresh ingredients are displayed and here is one place where you definitely see the quality of what you are paying for. Is there anything more enticing than a juicy red steak or a pile of fresh looking shrimp? The Chef artfully slices and dices each ingredient and then displays knife and spatula skills that made this amateur Chef quite jealous.
It was fun when the four foot fireball part of the show made the baby next to me scream and cry. I had to wonder if this type of restaurant, with flames and a red hot grill mere inches away, was the best place to bring a diaper clad infant.
With the screams of a baby on the left of me and the delicious noise of cooking steak in front of me, I realized that I was all but unable to communicate with the friends to my right. I attempted conversation but it is really difficult. You end up feeling alone while watching the show unfold before you.
The Chef serves up a salad and some rice and you can work through that while waiting on your meat. It really is a tasty, fresh and high quality tasting meal, but I just didn’t really enjoy eating it because of all the distractions.
I was here with two old friends and a new friend. With all the noise and commotion, it was the latter part of the meal before I really had a chance to get to know the new friend sitting beside me. It’s definitely not the place to take a date or to go to reminisce with friends.
Along those same lines, conversation is further hindered by the fact that everyone is sitting shoulder to shoulder. The common across table banter is not possible because you are sitting in a row. Every communication is left to right and around other people’s heads.
As the last bit of hot food is delivered, the Chef takes a bow, there is applause and then he turns off the loud fan. Everyone exhales in a sigh of relief, but then the Chef at the next table turns on his fan (six feet away) and the noise is back.
Once the Chef is gone, you quickly become aware that your show is over and the staff would like you to quickly finish your meal and clear the area for the next batch of guests. The place isn’t making money when that grill isn’t being used. It’s not a place where you linger over coffee while discussing the day’s events.
Overall, it’s a fun experience. The food is very good and presents many options to explore. The Chef makes sure he puts on a good show and that is the highlight of the meal. A nice entrée will come in around twenty bucks (or less) so it’s not even very expensive.
Hibachi is the type of restaurant that deserves to thrive. Charleston doesn’t have enough “different” places to dine and I hope Hibachi is very successful. It’s not my cup of tea for every meal, but for a fun and entertaining night when conversation isn’t a priority, it’s a great place to go.
Enjoy.
From the Archives: Delish Express
Another of my often requested articles. This one is about, legend, Virgil Sadorra's Delish Express that opened back in 2007. The place has only gotten better since I wrote this.
Let's hope the menu items from the original Delish are coming back in some format soon.
Enjoy.
The Return of the King
Delish Express
I just looked up the word “Icon”. Certainly, I know how it’s used in conversation, but I wanted to double-check before using it in writing.
Icon: A person or thing that is the best example of a certain profession or some doing.
Charleston restaurateur and local legend, Virgil Sadorra is solidifying his empire with the new Delish Express. Icon seems a suitable way to describe Mr. Virgil Sadorra and he is back with his twist on a simple and sandwich, soup and salad place. Of course, since it’s from the mind of Mr. Sadorra, it’s so much more than just a simple sandwich place.
Delish Express takes its name from Virgil’s first restaurant, the beloved “Delish”. His first effort was located on McFarland Street. The central location quickly made Delish it the “it” lunch spot and the place to be seen in downtown Charleston.
But then it happened. Like the cruel third act of a Greek Tragedy, Delish was taken away by a fire. Charleston lost one of its most unique and popular restaurants. Years later, people still lament the loss of that tiny but very special restaurant.
Virgil didn’t let a fire keep him down and he did return to McFarland Street with Cilantro’s. It’s his vision on west coast style tex-mex. It’s popular and always packed at lunch, but that’s only one of the bullets in Virgil’s restaurant gun.
From a dining perspective, the East-end is a seriously under served part of Charleston. The workers at the Capitol previously had to rely on their own infamous cafeteria or they could venture out and eat at Wendy’s, Rally’s or Subway. Sure, those are sometimes suitable for a quick lunch, but rotating through those choices over a period of time is enough to drive anyone crazy.
Virgil swept in and purchased a building close enough to the Capitol for the lunch crowd. A side benefit is bringing a vital business to a long empty building (and Neighborhood). Delish Express, along with other new businesses, like Bluegrass Kitchen, finally gives people in this neighborhood a place they can go for a fantastic meal.
You’ll find ample parking next to the building. It is odd, however, that the parking lot is equipped with parking meters, but for those of us accustomed to downtown life, it’s not too much of a burden. Besides, those meters will keep people from abusing the parking, thereby robbing Delish Express of spaces for its customers.
The building is bright and fresh and everything you see simply must be brand new. Your seating options include multiple tables, a long bench and some stools on the upper level which are mostly occupied by people awaiting their “To Go” orders. The inside will seat approximately 20-25 people and the outdoor patio almost doubles the capacity.
The process is that you get your own menu and check off the selections you want to be included on your sandwich or in your salad. The little menu is almost overwhelming at first, but it’s not a complex process. You select your bread, meat and cheese and then go wild on the wide array of vegetables.
The bread options alone mean that you can have a traditional Panini on thin grilled bread or a heartier sandwich on a Ciabatta Roll or Focaccia bread. Additionally, the breads can be topped with infused butters (garlic, lime, ginger, etc.) for an added punch to your sandwich that almost none of us do at home.
The meats and cheeses provide so many combinations that you could easily never have the same sandwich twice.
For the less adventurous, Delish Express does have chalkboard menus that offer some signature sandwiches and just reading through the ingredients one wonders how those sandwiches aren’t ordered every single time. How about a Grilled Chicken on Focaccia infused with ginger butter or a Portabella Mushroom sandwich on a Ciabatta roll with Roma Tomatoes.
My suggestion is to grab a menu to go and take it back to your office. Scan it in or just make a copy and you will be able to leisurely choose your options before heading to the actual restaurant.
The line can often reach to the front door, but don’t let your heart be troubled. Even in the first two weeks after opening, Virgil’s crew worked with decent speed and that daunting line moved rather quickly.
Once you do reach the register, you simply turn in your menu, choose your drink and pay the unbelievably reasonable price for your food. The sandwiches range from about $5.00 and can get up to around $9.00 if you add some extra options such as extra meat.
The treat at the register is getting to see the true “sandwich artists” working on the food right before your eyes. On my first visit, I was able to spot Virgil himself in the rear of the restaurant running a sharp knife through some vegetables while members of his staff looked on. I am not sure if was an impromptu training session or if he just wanted to show off for the assembled masses.
On the next visit, the chalkboard beckoned and I couldn’t resist ordering a cup of soup. I paired it with a Virginia Ham Sandwich on a Ciabatta Roll with infused butter and a heaping selection of the freshest and most lovingly prepared vegetables.
On that day, the other soup choices were Chicken with Rice and Potato and Cheese. I left my selection to one of Virgil’s talented employees and got the Fire Roasted Tomato Soup.
Of course, the sandwich was a treat, but this soup was clearly the star of this meal. It was presented in a nicely sized (to go) cup and even when I got back to my office it was still showing a nice garnish of herbs and a huge slice of actual roasted tomato in the soup. This was a thick and hearty soup that had such a deep and complex roasted tomato flavor that it was almost overwhelming. I say almost because this was some of the best soup I have ever consumed.
The one thing I haven’t yet tried is the salads. With the quality of hand cut, fresh, vegetables on the sandwiches how could it be possible that the salads aren’t amazing? With selections such as Spring Mix with Goat Cheese and Spinach and Mandarin Orange, you can go wildly exotic or just get something traditional. Delish Express will construct anything your heart desires.
With the soothing orange and pale yellow paint, the nice local Charleston art pictures on the wall and the knowledge that the food will be amazing, it’s almost as if your stress level drops the moment you enter the restaurant.
Delish Express is a complete treat. It will bring you to a neighborhood where you probably haven’t considered eating, it will give you sandwiches and food that you can’t get anywhere else and your patronage is supports a Charleston visionary. You can’t go wrong with a trip to Delish Express.
Let's hope the menu items from the original Delish are coming back in some format soon.
Enjoy.
The Return of the King
Delish Express
I just looked up the word “Icon”. Certainly, I know how it’s used in conversation, but I wanted to double-check before using it in writing.
Icon: A person or thing that is the best example of a certain profession or some doing.
Charleston restaurateur and local legend, Virgil Sadorra is solidifying his empire with the new Delish Express. Icon seems a suitable way to describe Mr. Virgil Sadorra and he is back with his twist on a simple and sandwich, soup and salad place. Of course, since it’s from the mind of Mr. Sadorra, it’s so much more than just a simple sandwich place.
Delish Express takes its name from Virgil’s first restaurant, the beloved “Delish”. His first effort was located on McFarland Street. The central location quickly made Delish it the “it” lunch spot and the place to be seen in downtown Charleston.
But then it happened. Like the cruel third act of a Greek Tragedy, Delish was taken away by a fire. Charleston lost one of its most unique and popular restaurants. Years later, people still lament the loss of that tiny but very special restaurant.
Virgil didn’t let a fire keep him down and he did return to McFarland Street with Cilantro’s. It’s his vision on west coast style tex-mex. It’s popular and always packed at lunch, but that’s only one of the bullets in Virgil’s restaurant gun.
From a dining perspective, the East-end is a seriously under served part of Charleston. The workers at the Capitol previously had to rely on their own infamous cafeteria or they could venture out and eat at Wendy’s, Rally’s or Subway. Sure, those are sometimes suitable for a quick lunch, but rotating through those choices over a period of time is enough to drive anyone crazy.
Virgil swept in and purchased a building close enough to the Capitol for the lunch crowd. A side benefit is bringing a vital business to a long empty building (and Neighborhood). Delish Express, along with other new businesses, like Bluegrass Kitchen, finally gives people in this neighborhood a place they can go for a fantastic meal.
You’ll find ample parking next to the building. It is odd, however, that the parking lot is equipped with parking meters, but for those of us accustomed to downtown life, it’s not too much of a burden. Besides, those meters will keep people from abusing the parking, thereby robbing Delish Express of spaces for its customers.
The building is bright and fresh and everything you see simply must be brand new. Your seating options include multiple tables, a long bench and some stools on the upper level which are mostly occupied by people awaiting their “To Go” orders. The inside will seat approximately 20-25 people and the outdoor patio almost doubles the capacity.
The process is that you get your own menu and check off the selections you want to be included on your sandwich or in your salad. The little menu is almost overwhelming at first, but it’s not a complex process. You select your bread, meat and cheese and then go wild on the wide array of vegetables.
The bread options alone mean that you can have a traditional Panini on thin grilled bread or a heartier sandwich on a Ciabatta Roll or Focaccia bread. Additionally, the breads can be topped with infused butters (garlic, lime, ginger, etc.) for an added punch to your sandwich that almost none of us do at home.
The meats and cheeses provide so many combinations that you could easily never have the same sandwich twice.
For the less adventurous, Delish Express does have chalkboard menus that offer some signature sandwiches and just reading through the ingredients one wonders how those sandwiches aren’t ordered every single time. How about a Grilled Chicken on Focaccia infused with ginger butter or a Portabella Mushroom sandwich on a Ciabatta roll with Roma Tomatoes.
My suggestion is to grab a menu to go and take it back to your office. Scan it in or just make a copy and you will be able to leisurely choose your options before heading to the actual restaurant.
The line can often reach to the front door, but don’t let your heart be troubled. Even in the first two weeks after opening, Virgil’s crew worked with decent speed and that daunting line moved rather quickly.
Once you do reach the register, you simply turn in your menu, choose your drink and pay the unbelievably reasonable price for your food. The sandwiches range from about $5.00 and can get up to around $9.00 if you add some extra options such as extra meat.
The treat at the register is getting to see the true “sandwich artists” working on the food right before your eyes. On my first visit, I was able to spot Virgil himself in the rear of the restaurant running a sharp knife through some vegetables while members of his staff looked on. I am not sure if was an impromptu training session or if he just wanted to show off for the assembled masses.
On the next visit, the chalkboard beckoned and I couldn’t resist ordering a cup of soup. I paired it with a Virginia Ham Sandwich on a Ciabatta Roll with infused butter and a heaping selection of the freshest and most lovingly prepared vegetables.
On that day, the other soup choices were Chicken with Rice and Potato and Cheese. I left my selection to one of Virgil’s talented employees and got the Fire Roasted Tomato Soup.
Of course, the sandwich was a treat, but this soup was clearly the star of this meal. It was presented in a nicely sized (to go) cup and even when I got back to my office it was still showing a nice garnish of herbs and a huge slice of actual roasted tomato in the soup. This was a thick and hearty soup that had such a deep and complex roasted tomato flavor that it was almost overwhelming. I say almost because this was some of the best soup I have ever consumed.
The one thing I haven’t yet tried is the salads. With the quality of hand cut, fresh, vegetables on the sandwiches how could it be possible that the salads aren’t amazing? With selections such as Spring Mix with Goat Cheese and Spinach and Mandarin Orange, you can go wildly exotic or just get something traditional. Delish Express will construct anything your heart desires.
With the soothing orange and pale yellow paint, the nice local Charleston art pictures on the wall and the knowledge that the food will be amazing, it’s almost as if your stress level drops the moment you enter the restaurant.
Delish Express is a complete treat. It will bring you to a neighborhood where you probably haven’t considered eating, it will give you sandwiches and food that you can’t get anywhere else and your patronage is supports a Charleston visionary. You can’t go wrong with a trip to Delish Express.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
The Art of the complaint (or, Adventures at Fifth Quarter)
I got a request for this article which was originally published in early 2007.
This is a late draft version so it's not perfect but I know several people enjoyed it.
The Art of the Complaint
Adventures at Fifth Quarter
It was a weekend evening and we were in the car trying to decide on dinner. I didn’t want to go to Southridge and deal with the crowds and the traffic. The Town Center presented many options but paying for parking and fighting crowds for the Basketball Tournament didn’t seem too enticing either.
After driving around Charleston for about twenty minutes we decided on The Fifth Quarter. In spite of being adjacent to The Civic Center, all the basketball people were instead streaming across the street to The Town Center and its trendier restaurant choices.
It’s prime location notwithstanding, The Fifth Quarter seems almost ignored by the great hoards of people who flock to the big box restaurants in the Southridge area. I rarely see the parking lot more than half full and I never hear anyone talking about going to The Fifth Quarter.
When I was growing up, there were two steakhouses in Charleston. Everyone had their prom at either “Steak and Ale” (long closed, MacCorkle Ave, across from Haddad Riverfront Park) or “The Fifth Quarter”.
Somewhat later, in my early twenties, The Fifth Quarter was locally famous for their “All you could eat Prime Rib and Crab Leg” specials. The place used to be packed to overflowing by people enjoying the great steaks and very famous salad bar (which was a cut above what everyone else was offering at the time)
I spent many an evening in The Fifth Quarter enjoying slab after slab of excellent, all you can eat, Prime Rib. A friend and I even once took a small portable television to our quiet table so we could watch a football game while stuffing ourselves with prime rib.
This restaurant was a downtown highlight and its quiet and private interior, including the dimly lit bar, have been witness of birth of more than a few local marriages (and divorces).
At some point in the 1990’s the restaurant closed. I don’t know the history, but I know that it must have fallen on some sort of hard times and one day it was gone.
The twist is that there was some kind of groundswell of support that led someone to re-open the restaurant. And that’s how we arrive at 2007. The restaurant has been open again for years and is apparently keeping enough customers happy to keep the lights on.
The old saying is that “you can never go home again” or basically that you shouldn’t try and re-live the great memories from your youth because you will nearly always end up disappointed. Unfortunately, this is how my visit to The Fifth Quarter played out.
We walked inside the restaurant and I was struck by how the interior looks exactly like it did twenty years ago. I remember standing in the exact same lobby and hallway in my tuxedo during my prom.
The rustic wood paneling that was so chic when I was a kid now sort of looks dated and cheap. I think the little podium that the greeter leans against is the exact same one that was there in 1987.
The host looked up from his doodling and I advised it was a party of two and that I wanted a booth. Yes, I requested a booth. I had already deduced that since the lobby looked the same, I figured the dining rooms were still the comfortable, very private, booths along the perimeter and standard tables and chairs throughout the center of the room. Well, I hate sitting in the middle of the room so I wanted a booth.
The host, more or less, ignored my request and seated us at a booth-table. It’s one of those half booths that I always assumed were to accommodate persons in wheelchairs. We were tucked in a far corner and I got to sit in a chair while my date was in a booth whose cushion was also a holdover from the 1980’s. She said that the lower cushion was in such a state of disrepair that she would have been more comfortable sitting on her own ankle.
As I grumbled about the host ignoring my request by escorting us past several unoccupied booths, I noted that the room was at, probably, 40% capacity. There was a large group, in excess of 15 people, who were seated by pulling several tables together. There were some couples and families around the room. The disturbing fellow seated less than 2 feet from our table was creepy. He was sitting alone at his table with empty food plates and was reading something. He seemed to react to our every conversation. The creepy fellow eventually left, but his attention to what we were discussing was just another level of disappointment and we had only been in the building for about 5 minutes.
A young man eventually came to our table and introduced himself as our waiter. My date requested a soft drink and I requested a Guinness on tap. He didn’t know if it was available on tap, but he would find out.
Five to ten minutes passed (he was taking orders at several tables around the room) before he returned with our drinks. Sadly, my Guinness was in a bottle and had been open so long that it was warm and flat. Yes, I am being picky, but anyone that serves Guinness needs to know the proper way to do it. The bartender had apparently opened this bottle but the waiter let it sit for a long time. It’s unacceptable, but I didn’t have the energy to complain. The waiter appeared to be tending to almost every table in the room and it looked like he had his hands full.
The menu was extensive. It’s pretty much standard steakhouse fare and was exactly what I expected. The menu has changed from my youth and there is certainly a wider selection of foods than I remember.
Appetizers from $7 to $15 bucks, soups, salads, pastas, chicken, steaks and ribs. It’s all pretty much the entrees and cuts of meat that you would expect. The prices are a step above most of the big franchise steak places.
One trick that I remember from prior visits, to jack up the price, is that the very inviting, and beautiful, salad bar is not included with the entrees. A house or Caesar salad is included, but if you want access to the bar, it’s an additional $2.49. With most entrees averaging $20, and some steaks nearing $30, I consider it somewhat insulting that one must cough up more money to use the salad bar.
I will say that the best steakhouses in big cities all operate this way. Everything is a la carte’ and you pay for each item on your plate. Vegetables are five to seven bucks more, a baked potato is another five to seven bucks. It is standard fare at expensive restaurants, but I just don’t think The Fifth Quarter is on that level. This place is competing with entry level quick dining restaurants and you simply get more for your dollar at other places.
I worked through my warm and flat Guinness and tried to reassure my date that in spite of her uncomfortable booth cushion she would have a good meal.
Our waiter was running around like mad. He was clearly overwhelmed and didn’t return to our table for quite a while. In fact, I watched him take the order from, and deliver bread, salads and drinks to a table that were seated after us. I may not have noticed these other people but they were sitting in one of the booths that our host walked past when seating us.
There appeared to only be one other waiter in the entire room. These two guys both had artful variations of facial hair and these two guys almost looked like twins. I could only tell them apart by their shirt color. There simply had to be some sort of wait staff problem on this evening as my recollections of The Fifth Quarter were always of a platoon of nicely dressed, and presented, professional type waitresses who were always everywhere you looked. In fact, some of my best memories of service are from The Fifth Quarter. They simply did an amazing job tending to their tables and you got the feeling they were doing their job as a career and not just something they do part time while in school.
These two guys were doing all they could do to tend to their tables, but it was failing miserably. We waited way too long to make our order, refills didn’t come until long after the glass was empty and it just got worse by the minute.
The waiter eventually arrived at our table and we got him to stand still long enough to take our order. For me, it was Prime Rib. For my date, Blackened Chicken Alfredo.
I told him that I wanted medium rare Prime Rib. Mind you, this is a place where I have had hundreds of cuts of Prime Rib. The menu even defines “Medium Rare” as red with warm center. They have never gotten my order wrong…...well, keep reading.
Soon, some bread came and since we didn’t get any appetizers, we each consumed some of this decent, but unremarkable, standard steakhouse bread.
I had selected the $2.49 salad bar on top of my $22.99 cut of Prime Rib. The salad bar is the exact configuration and probably the exact same pewter containers that I remember from the 1980’s. However, this bit of nostalgia is not a bad thing. Everything on the salad bar looked fresh and the bar was surgically clean and nothing was out of place. 45 minutes in and I finally find something to like.
I returned to the table to find my date eating her kitchen prepared salad that was included with her meal. After spying my amazing concoction from the bar, she was more than a bit annoyed with the, technically pretty, but otherwise bland and tasteless salad that she had to endure.
We finished our salads and were more than ready (and probably an hour in at this point) when the waiter arrived with our dinner.
You know that moment of thrill that comes when a waiter places a piping hot dish in front of you. That first instant of eye contact with some amazing looking food……well, neither of us experienced that on this evening.
Her Blackened Chicken Alfredo was a small bowl of pasta with a pale orange “sauce” and with some curious looking chicken on top. I say curious looking because it looked like airplane food. It was too “blackened”. It looked like those frozen, processed, chicken patties that you can buy in places that do not have an actual grill. The grill marks and blackened areas were just too perfect. It looked like prop food. This was not a high quality piece of chicken. From the looks and ultimately to the dry taste, it was not what she expected to receive.
Amazingly, the bland and processed chicken wasn’t the worst part of the dish. The alfredo sauce was a new low in restaurant sauces. This gelatinous mass was clearly not a real sauce. After a taste she instantly, and forcefully, stated that she was absolutely sure this was Campbell’s Cheddar Cheese Soup. I tried it and, yes, I am sure she was correct. I have Campbell’s Cheddar Cheese Soup all the time and I would bet money that this was the exact same stuff.
This was a $9.99 entrée and from what we could tell, it contained processed, surely frozen chicken, about 15 cents worth of pasta and a ninety-nine cent can of cheese soup. It was a complete representation, utterly inedible and she stopped almost immediately.
I was concurrently discovering one of the worst pieces of Prime Rib ever served. This grey colored slab of meat was cold to the touch, was utterly devoid of any form of moisture whatsoever. This piece of meat simply couldn’t have been cooked on this calendar date. Also on the plate was a pitiful ice cream scoop of mashed potatoes that were equally bad. I have had box-mix potatoes prepared in a college dorm room that tasted better than these.
I sat there, head in my hands, and wondered how this was possible. What was I supposed to do? Why did this restaurant burden me with this decision making process? All I wanted to do was come here, have a good meal and spend 50-70 bucks in the process. Now I have to determine how I am going to handle this mess.
How do I tell the waiter that, so far, with the exception of the salad bar, everything he has delivered is worse than dog food? Do I play good cop or bad cop? Hell, I even considered just walking out.
Luckily (sarcasm), I was able to stew over this decision for quite a while because the waiter took his sweet time to return to our table. Both of our drinks were long empty and our plates remained largely untouched.
Eventually we made eye contact and he came to the table looking like a puppy that just made a mess. I think he knew it wasn’t going to be a pleasurable exchange.
The cliff notes version is that I was a good cop. I was very polite, but I was firm. I told him that the pasta dish was unacceptable on all levels. I told him that my steak wasn’t anywhere near medium rare and that considering the complete absence of any red or pink coloring and the absolute lack of moisture in any capacity that it simply must have been sitting on a shelf somewhere for hours. I asked for the manager.
Three to five minutes passed before the manager made it to the table. I asked him if the alfredo sauce came from a Campbell’s soup can. He claimed it was their own special recipe. Impossible.
I showed him my, now rapidly decomposing steak. It was now such a disgusting shade of grey that it looked more like a prop from CSI Miami rather than anything resembling fresh, restaurant, Prime Rib.
The manager didn’t say much, but he did agree that my steak wasn’t medium rare. I told him that if it was a simple overcooked steak that it should still have some semblance of moisture. This was a well-traveled rib. It must have been left over from some earlier time. He had no explanation and probably didn’t appreciate my extensive description of disdain for the grey slab. It literally looked like a 1950’s black and white television show was playing on my plate. The steak sucked all color from the surrounding area and left everything a pale shade of grey. It was disgusting.
The manager was, of course, full of apologies and offered to take the food away.
My date decided to just get her meal from the salad bar and that was the extent of what she ate that evening. In short order, I was presented with a visually pleasing and perfectly cooked medium rare Prime Rib.
The new plate was garnished better but it also included an ice cream scoop of those still horrendous mashed potatoes.
So, there I was, stressed out, annoyed and generally in need of a nap, but I was working through my replacement Prime Rib. It was far from the best Prime Rib of my life, but it was a piece of meat that they can be comfortable in serving. I ate most of it and was ready to leave.
The waiter finally reappeared at our table and was happy to see that I finally ate something. He also apologized for the ordeal, but I didn’t think he needed to relate the contents of his conversation with his manager about our complaints. As the customer, I don’t care what he tells the manager and I don’t care if he thinks I am complaining about his service. For the record, I made no complaint about the service. I think he was overwhelmed with too many tables. Sure, he should have brought my Guinness beer on time, but I let that one go.
The waiter was trying to appease me, but I didn’t want to have the conversation. It was a bad experience and I was in no mood to relive it in conversation with him. It was also unsavory that he was telling me that he “went to bat for me” with the manager and he was sure they would take care of me with the check.
This wasn’t a new car purchase where the salesman is going to the manager begging for a good deal for the customer. Frankly, I didn’t care that he was “going to bat for me”. I hadn’t asked for any adjustment of the check and since it hadn’t yet been presented to me, I wasn’t thinking about it.
In the end, the check was only for my two beers. The manager evidently authorized the adjustment and didn’t charge us for any of the food. I would have paid the full menu price for everything. I appreciate that they took the food off the check, but it was truly the only right thing to do.
Even with the approx. $6 dollar dinner check, I still tipped the waiter a large amount which would equal a nice tip on the full check. I never stiff the wait staff. They work too hard to be punished for things that are outside of their control.
I was shocked at how the evening played out and I look forward to returning for another visit just to see how much better it can be.
I hope that some of you visit The Fifth Quarter. Let me know that they can still serve a great meal. Just don’t let them seat you at the half-booth, don’t order a complicated foreign beer and stay far away from the mashed potatoes.
This is a late draft version so it's not perfect but I know several people enjoyed it.
The Art of the Complaint
Adventures at Fifth Quarter
It was a weekend evening and we were in the car trying to decide on dinner. I didn’t want to go to Southridge and deal with the crowds and the traffic. The Town Center presented many options but paying for parking and fighting crowds for the Basketball Tournament didn’t seem too enticing either.
After driving around Charleston for about twenty minutes we decided on The Fifth Quarter. In spite of being adjacent to The Civic Center, all the basketball people were instead streaming across the street to The Town Center and its trendier restaurant choices.
It’s prime location notwithstanding, The Fifth Quarter seems almost ignored by the great hoards of people who flock to the big box restaurants in the Southridge area. I rarely see the parking lot more than half full and I never hear anyone talking about going to The Fifth Quarter.
When I was growing up, there were two steakhouses in Charleston. Everyone had their prom at either “Steak and Ale” (long closed, MacCorkle Ave, across from Haddad Riverfront Park) or “The Fifth Quarter”.
Somewhat later, in my early twenties, The Fifth Quarter was locally famous for their “All you could eat Prime Rib and Crab Leg” specials. The place used to be packed to overflowing by people enjoying the great steaks and very famous salad bar (which was a cut above what everyone else was offering at the time)
I spent many an evening in The Fifth Quarter enjoying slab after slab of excellent, all you can eat, Prime Rib. A friend and I even once took a small portable television to our quiet table so we could watch a football game while stuffing ourselves with prime rib.
This restaurant was a downtown highlight and its quiet and private interior, including the dimly lit bar, have been witness of birth of more than a few local marriages (and divorces).
At some point in the 1990’s the restaurant closed. I don’t know the history, but I know that it must have fallen on some sort of hard times and one day it was gone.
The twist is that there was some kind of groundswell of support that led someone to re-open the restaurant. And that’s how we arrive at 2007. The restaurant has been open again for years and is apparently keeping enough customers happy to keep the lights on.
The old saying is that “you can never go home again” or basically that you shouldn’t try and re-live the great memories from your youth because you will nearly always end up disappointed. Unfortunately, this is how my visit to The Fifth Quarter played out.
We walked inside the restaurant and I was struck by how the interior looks exactly like it did twenty years ago. I remember standing in the exact same lobby and hallway in my tuxedo during my prom.
The rustic wood paneling that was so chic when I was a kid now sort of looks dated and cheap. I think the little podium that the greeter leans against is the exact same one that was there in 1987.
The host looked up from his doodling and I advised it was a party of two and that I wanted a booth. Yes, I requested a booth. I had already deduced that since the lobby looked the same, I figured the dining rooms were still the comfortable, very private, booths along the perimeter and standard tables and chairs throughout the center of the room. Well, I hate sitting in the middle of the room so I wanted a booth.
The host, more or less, ignored my request and seated us at a booth-table. It’s one of those half booths that I always assumed were to accommodate persons in wheelchairs. We were tucked in a far corner and I got to sit in a chair while my date was in a booth whose cushion was also a holdover from the 1980’s. She said that the lower cushion was in such a state of disrepair that she would have been more comfortable sitting on her own ankle.
As I grumbled about the host ignoring my request by escorting us past several unoccupied booths, I noted that the room was at, probably, 40% capacity. There was a large group, in excess of 15 people, who were seated by pulling several tables together. There were some couples and families around the room. The disturbing fellow seated less than 2 feet from our table was creepy. He was sitting alone at his table with empty food plates and was reading something. He seemed to react to our every conversation. The creepy fellow eventually left, but his attention to what we were discussing was just another level of disappointment and we had only been in the building for about 5 minutes.
A young man eventually came to our table and introduced himself as our waiter. My date requested a soft drink and I requested a Guinness on tap. He didn’t know if it was available on tap, but he would find out.
Five to ten minutes passed (he was taking orders at several tables around the room) before he returned with our drinks. Sadly, my Guinness was in a bottle and had been open so long that it was warm and flat. Yes, I am being picky, but anyone that serves Guinness needs to know the proper way to do it. The bartender had apparently opened this bottle but the waiter let it sit for a long time. It’s unacceptable, but I didn’t have the energy to complain. The waiter appeared to be tending to almost every table in the room and it looked like he had his hands full.
The menu was extensive. It’s pretty much standard steakhouse fare and was exactly what I expected. The menu has changed from my youth and there is certainly a wider selection of foods than I remember.
Appetizers from $7 to $15 bucks, soups, salads, pastas, chicken, steaks and ribs. It’s all pretty much the entrees and cuts of meat that you would expect. The prices are a step above most of the big franchise steak places.
One trick that I remember from prior visits, to jack up the price, is that the very inviting, and beautiful, salad bar is not included with the entrees. A house or Caesar salad is included, but if you want access to the bar, it’s an additional $2.49. With most entrees averaging $20, and some steaks nearing $30, I consider it somewhat insulting that one must cough up more money to use the salad bar.
I will say that the best steakhouses in big cities all operate this way. Everything is a la carte’ and you pay for each item on your plate. Vegetables are five to seven bucks more, a baked potato is another five to seven bucks. It is standard fare at expensive restaurants, but I just don’t think The Fifth Quarter is on that level. This place is competing with entry level quick dining restaurants and you simply get more for your dollar at other places.
I worked through my warm and flat Guinness and tried to reassure my date that in spite of her uncomfortable booth cushion she would have a good meal.
Our waiter was running around like mad. He was clearly overwhelmed and didn’t return to our table for quite a while. In fact, I watched him take the order from, and deliver bread, salads and drinks to a table that were seated after us. I may not have noticed these other people but they were sitting in one of the booths that our host walked past when seating us.
There appeared to only be one other waiter in the entire room. These two guys both had artful variations of facial hair and these two guys almost looked like twins. I could only tell them apart by their shirt color. There simply had to be some sort of wait staff problem on this evening as my recollections of The Fifth Quarter were always of a platoon of nicely dressed, and presented, professional type waitresses who were always everywhere you looked. In fact, some of my best memories of service are from The Fifth Quarter. They simply did an amazing job tending to their tables and you got the feeling they were doing their job as a career and not just something they do part time while in school.
These two guys were doing all they could do to tend to their tables, but it was failing miserably. We waited way too long to make our order, refills didn’t come until long after the glass was empty and it just got worse by the minute.
The waiter eventually arrived at our table and we got him to stand still long enough to take our order. For me, it was Prime Rib. For my date, Blackened Chicken Alfredo.
I told him that I wanted medium rare Prime Rib. Mind you, this is a place where I have had hundreds of cuts of Prime Rib. The menu even defines “Medium Rare” as red with warm center. They have never gotten my order wrong…...well, keep reading.
Soon, some bread came and since we didn’t get any appetizers, we each consumed some of this decent, but unremarkable, standard steakhouse bread.
I had selected the $2.49 salad bar on top of my $22.99 cut of Prime Rib. The salad bar is the exact configuration and probably the exact same pewter containers that I remember from the 1980’s. However, this bit of nostalgia is not a bad thing. Everything on the salad bar looked fresh and the bar was surgically clean and nothing was out of place. 45 minutes in and I finally find something to like.
I returned to the table to find my date eating her kitchen prepared salad that was included with her meal. After spying my amazing concoction from the bar, she was more than a bit annoyed with the, technically pretty, but otherwise bland and tasteless salad that she had to endure.
We finished our salads and were more than ready (and probably an hour in at this point) when the waiter arrived with our dinner.
You know that moment of thrill that comes when a waiter places a piping hot dish in front of you. That first instant of eye contact with some amazing looking food……well, neither of us experienced that on this evening.
Her Blackened Chicken Alfredo was a small bowl of pasta with a pale orange “sauce” and with some curious looking chicken on top. I say curious looking because it looked like airplane food. It was too “blackened”. It looked like those frozen, processed, chicken patties that you can buy in places that do not have an actual grill. The grill marks and blackened areas were just too perfect. It looked like prop food. This was not a high quality piece of chicken. From the looks and ultimately to the dry taste, it was not what she expected to receive.
Amazingly, the bland and processed chicken wasn’t the worst part of the dish. The alfredo sauce was a new low in restaurant sauces. This gelatinous mass was clearly not a real sauce. After a taste she instantly, and forcefully, stated that she was absolutely sure this was Campbell’s Cheddar Cheese Soup. I tried it and, yes, I am sure she was correct. I have Campbell’s Cheddar Cheese Soup all the time and I would bet money that this was the exact same stuff.
This was a $9.99 entrée and from what we could tell, it contained processed, surely frozen chicken, about 15 cents worth of pasta and a ninety-nine cent can of cheese soup. It was a complete representation, utterly inedible and she stopped almost immediately.
I was concurrently discovering one of the worst pieces of Prime Rib ever served. This grey colored slab of meat was cold to the touch, was utterly devoid of any form of moisture whatsoever. This piece of meat simply couldn’t have been cooked on this calendar date. Also on the plate was a pitiful ice cream scoop of mashed potatoes that were equally bad. I have had box-mix potatoes prepared in a college dorm room that tasted better than these.
I sat there, head in my hands, and wondered how this was possible. What was I supposed to do? Why did this restaurant burden me with this decision making process? All I wanted to do was come here, have a good meal and spend 50-70 bucks in the process. Now I have to determine how I am going to handle this mess.
How do I tell the waiter that, so far, with the exception of the salad bar, everything he has delivered is worse than dog food? Do I play good cop or bad cop? Hell, I even considered just walking out.
Luckily (sarcasm), I was able to stew over this decision for quite a while because the waiter took his sweet time to return to our table. Both of our drinks were long empty and our plates remained largely untouched.
Eventually we made eye contact and he came to the table looking like a puppy that just made a mess. I think he knew it wasn’t going to be a pleasurable exchange.
The cliff notes version is that I was a good cop. I was very polite, but I was firm. I told him that the pasta dish was unacceptable on all levels. I told him that my steak wasn’t anywhere near medium rare and that considering the complete absence of any red or pink coloring and the absolute lack of moisture in any capacity that it simply must have been sitting on a shelf somewhere for hours. I asked for the manager.
Three to five minutes passed before the manager made it to the table. I asked him if the alfredo sauce came from a Campbell’s soup can. He claimed it was their own special recipe. Impossible.
I showed him my, now rapidly decomposing steak. It was now such a disgusting shade of grey that it looked more like a prop from CSI Miami rather than anything resembling fresh, restaurant, Prime Rib.
The manager didn’t say much, but he did agree that my steak wasn’t medium rare. I told him that if it was a simple overcooked steak that it should still have some semblance of moisture. This was a well-traveled rib. It must have been left over from some earlier time. He had no explanation and probably didn’t appreciate my extensive description of disdain for the grey slab. It literally looked like a 1950’s black and white television show was playing on my plate. The steak sucked all color from the surrounding area and left everything a pale shade of grey. It was disgusting.
The manager was, of course, full of apologies and offered to take the food away.
My date decided to just get her meal from the salad bar and that was the extent of what she ate that evening. In short order, I was presented with a visually pleasing and perfectly cooked medium rare Prime Rib.
The new plate was garnished better but it also included an ice cream scoop of those still horrendous mashed potatoes.
So, there I was, stressed out, annoyed and generally in need of a nap, but I was working through my replacement Prime Rib. It was far from the best Prime Rib of my life, but it was a piece of meat that they can be comfortable in serving. I ate most of it and was ready to leave.
The waiter finally reappeared at our table and was happy to see that I finally ate something. He also apologized for the ordeal, but I didn’t think he needed to relate the contents of his conversation with his manager about our complaints. As the customer, I don’t care what he tells the manager and I don’t care if he thinks I am complaining about his service. For the record, I made no complaint about the service. I think he was overwhelmed with too many tables. Sure, he should have brought my Guinness beer on time, but I let that one go.
The waiter was trying to appease me, but I didn’t want to have the conversation. It was a bad experience and I was in no mood to relive it in conversation with him. It was also unsavory that he was telling me that he “went to bat for me” with the manager and he was sure they would take care of me with the check.
This wasn’t a new car purchase where the salesman is going to the manager begging for a good deal for the customer. Frankly, I didn’t care that he was “going to bat for me”. I hadn’t asked for any adjustment of the check and since it hadn’t yet been presented to me, I wasn’t thinking about it.
In the end, the check was only for my two beers. The manager evidently authorized the adjustment and didn’t charge us for any of the food. I would have paid the full menu price for everything. I appreciate that they took the food off the check, but it was truly the only right thing to do.
Even with the approx. $6 dollar dinner check, I still tipped the waiter a large amount which would equal a nice tip on the full check. I never stiff the wait staff. They work too hard to be punished for things that are outside of their control.
I was shocked at how the evening played out and I look forward to returning for another visit just to see how much better it can be.
I hope that some of you visit The Fifth Quarter. Let me know that they can still serve a great meal. Just don’t let them seat you at the half-booth, don’t order a complicated foreign beer and stay far away from the mashed potatoes.
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