My wife chose it. As we pulled up I looked over longingly at the pizza/brewery right next door... oh well.
They have a diner menu which I love. I chose a cup of chili and a club sandwich. Seems safe, right?
Service was pretty good and the food + drinks came out pretty quickly. I ate the chili, but it was barely that. A very stiff, tomatoey concoction - more of a bean and tomato stew than a chili.
My wife's French fries were too hot for her to eat, but mine were room temperature and rubbery. I availed myself of the ketchup to drown out the lameness. Obviously, my sandwich and fries sat in the window for 20 minutes while my wife's fresh French fries and sandwich were being made.
There were two slices of cheese on my sandwich. One was pale, pale yellow, like smoked Gouda, and the other orange fading to processed yellow as though the cheese hadn't been wrapped, and the ends had dried out. I studied my sandwich as the chemical reaction from the chili worked on my guts, wondering if I should call out the variations in cheese colors to someone.
Our server was just fine, but there was another lady wandering around who seemed like she worked there. She came over and addressed the tables in our section by commenting that one of us smelled really nice. She seemed lost without a brass pole. I didn't see one, which is why she maybe seemed so clueless. She didn't dress like she 'worked' there by a long shot.
My wife had ordered a beer to go with her sandwich, while I'd gotten a coke. And she eats slowly. By the time I was done she was only half way through. I felt full. Not only was the helping of rubbery fries and the size of the weird cheese sandwich a decent size, but the reaction of whatever was in the chili was doing its thing.
We've all been in a spot where our mate was eating slowly and then lingering over a drink after having finished their meal. I was struggling. If the road crew hadn't cut through the power for our neighborhood we wouldn't even be there. But there I was: stomach gurgling and in pain wishing to god that my wife would finish her sandwich and beer.
Our server brought the bill efficiently. I'm assuming it was the chili or the cheese that had me feeling like my intestines were pregnant. And being in my last trimester, it wouldn't have been right for me to penalize the server for the restaurant getting my 'in that way'. You'd think I pushed the bill and a credit card to my wife to make sure it was a fair tip, but really it's because the monster in my belly had grown so large I couldn't see straight.
Blasted Bellevue traffic! It took 20 minutes to get home. Jesus, gremlins, and Josephat, it felt like I was going to burst. I could feel the monster move shift itself as we sat in traffic moving from Coal Creek to Factoria boulevard and onto Newport.
I picked the bathroom I imagined would be furthest away from where my wife would be and had an experience reminiscent of a colonoscopy cleanse. Since the power was out and I wanted to be as discrete possible I had the water running bull bore. Still, I may have called out deliriously thinking I was back in the hoa grappling with dysentery or for a colonic exorcism.
At a point, you wonder was it the chili, or the weird cheese - maybe it was those two and the room temperature rubbery fries in combination - I can't say. What I can tell you is that it was an unforgettable experience.
I explained it all to my wife. She just laughed, and laughed. Will we be back? I do love diner-style food, I'm adventurous, and there aren't any amusement parks nearby, so maybe. read more