The worst service of my life, which just kept getting worse. This is what happens when you have take a kindergardner to work day and let them run the evening happy-hour shift.
Ate here the month before with my husband and grown son and girlfriend, and even though chaos with the drink orders and forgetting one of the appetizers, the evening manager, Jove, tried hard.
But the food was good, the location cute, and so I returned with my girlfriend.
2nd time:
9:30p and had a reservation. Led to a small table in the back left corner, so we asked for one of the three empty booths, along the wall, which was met with a "hmmm" and a caucus with the other hostesses." The booth section was populated and open--another customer saw our plight, after he observed our bad service, and said it had to do with the restaurant's perception of how much a drinker you are--e.g. how much income will you be generating determines seating. Hmmm.
Seated in a booth and waited 15 minutes for menus. Finally, a late 20s woman comes over, appetizingly touching her hair, a lot, chewing gum or maybe not, with a surprised
"oh, you want to eat"? Uh, yes, a menu might be nice. "Oh, okay, what about drinks?" I don't know, we're yet to see any sort of menu. She drops off a menu and doesn't approach us for another 15-17 minues, even though she's a few feet away from us, like a bee pollinating two other flowers, which happen to be two tables of 30-something year old men boisterous and drinking. She's reiterating their extensive drink order. As well, she's giggling and talking in a high-pitched uptalk like she's at one of those speed-dating mixers.
Finally, she takes our order, and, like last time, the food is good--the lobster tostadas are yummy, and the Field Greens salad is tasty. We end up giving our drink order to someone else because our waitress is, once again, pollinating the exclusively testerone-filled tables and walking by our table, three, four times without stopping, despite our saying "maam, miss, excuse me, hello, fire?".
Still hungry, after splitting the tostadas and salad, and wanting to split the Margherita pizza, but, again, no waitress, so we order from a smart efficient young woman who walks by, who is on her break but will help us anyway. She shakes her head, watching the speed-dating theatre unfold, and says "it's her first day back." She's had time off to perfect her flirting and ignoring the "you're not going to order enough alcohol to matter customers or date me" skills, so she should have plenty of energy to acknowledge us and take our order.
Our waitress actually brings us our pizza and then sets out to find us a second plate, when we ask her to, and even returns with a small plate. When we're done with the pizza, someone has obviously talked to her, she says, like we've newly sat down, "what can I get you? Will you be wanting food?" No words.
The waitress livens up a bit when we order the "Sticky Toffee Chocolate Pudding," but she can't explain what a "candy snap" is--turns out it's the sugary bowl in which the dense, unmemorable, and unnecessary chocolate cake and DELICIOUS ice cream and good caramel and toffee sauces come in. She also can't tell us whose ice cream it is--a local place or if the restaurant makes its own. And doesn't offer to find out.
Bad to worse:
She disappears and leaves us with the now-empty dessert plates for twenty minutes, and after I get up and approach one of the many socializing (with each other) hostesses (a bleached blonde) for the check, nothing happens, despite promising she would get us the check. Maybe, it's opposite day?? No check for fifteen minutes, so I get up, again, and demand the check. The darker-haired hostess takes me seriously and has the check delivered by a young woman who says she's the manager, who has taken the dessert off the bill and expresses about the most insincere and distracted apology, ever, for the service. I did learn that she's a dancer, however. Good, because you suck at managing, hoping your Barchata skills are better. Takes off the dessert, but takes nary a plate off the table. I ask who the restaurant manager is, the name of the manager, and a fair amount of time passes before she can figure out that I mean a grown-up, the person she reports to.
WHAT THE HECK, EARLS? I have eaten at your other locations, and the Yaletown location, a month ago, and never have I had such unapologetic and persistently bad service. Absent, indifferent waitress, hostess that can't offer up an available booth without contemplating the move like it's a legal contract she's signing, idle, chatting hostesses that can't be bothered to bring the check, and a self-proclaimed manager, who is either posing as a manager or lacks all skills and awareness. Your staff reflects upper management. No bueno.
AND WHERE THE HECK IS YOUR ICE CREAM FROM?!!! I'll bypass your restaurant, next time, and just head there. read more