I'm so sad.
It'd be a stretch to say The Wife & I moved to Tucson for Noble Hops, but our visit in December, 2020, certainly made the relocation easier. As I said then, we looked forward to this becoming "one of our future favorite haunts;" alas, that's not to be. Subsequent visits have been spotty, at best; after tonight, we won't be back.
When The Wife suggests Noble Hops, I'm not "excited," but it's something to look forward to. We arrive around 6:00P; there're folks spread across the bar & patio, but it's not crowded. As we stand for several minutes at the door, I notice the cook glaring from the kitchen window, and I wonder if I'd kicked his dog. The bartender glances several times, but I figure he's near-sighted because he doesn't smile, nod or otherwise acknowledge us.
I say to The Wife, "If someone doesn't talk to us soon, I'm out" and indicate The Cook & The Barkeep. A young man stumbles by with a tray loaded down by a half-dozen glasses of tepid-looking water. "Outside or in?" he demands. The Wife sings, "Outside, please." The Kid grumbles, "Grab a seat, and someone'll follow with menus."
It's dusk and not yet February. We grab a table near the gravel fire pit and a space heater, both of which are off. The Barkeep shows up with paperwork -- Noble Hops' menu is now a spiral-bound book with tabs for food, drink, kids, etc -- and says he'll bring water. The Wife'll be chilled as soon as the sun's set, so I ask about the space heater. He replies with something about the fire pit.
We're waiting for drinks, and I notice The Kid, The Barkeep and a well-endowed waitress seem to be the only people working the floor. The Waitress looks to be on the fifty side of forty, and her endowments struggle to stay inside her spaghetti-strapped v-neck. Other than the two TVs over the bar, there's no other obvious entertainment. Tables, chairs, floor, all have that almost-grimy Tucson winter look, and I'm careful what I touch.
The Wife thinks the "Squid Pro Quo" salad sounds funny & interesting. "Can I have the dressing on the side?" Some back-&-forth, and The Barkeep says, "I don't know why the menu still says citrus mint vinaigrette; we don't have that any more." The Wife settles on a balsamic reduction, and I make things easy by ordering fish & chips with fries & coleslaw.
The Wife's drinking Free Wave Hazy Non-Alcoholic IPA (which strikes me funnier than "Squid Pro Quo"); I order a pint of Paperback Brewing's Satan Wears Pajamas Bourbon Barrel-Aged Amber. Service is fairly prompt, but the ale is (like most things Southern Californian) unimpressive.
The sun's full down; neither fire is lit. I toy with taking matters into my own hands but instead go to the car for The Wife's coat. I drop it off for her, head for a pit stop and make sure to not touch anything in the restroom. Ick. I avert my eyes on my way back as The Waitress bends over to serve drinks to another couple. Double Ick.
My glass is half-empty when the food arrives, which would be a great time for The Barkeep to offer another; he sets the plates down and leaves.
The Wife's stabbing past the squid (breaded & over-cooked calamari) asking, "Do you see any avocado?" I squint. "Nope." Seems to have escaped with the citrus mint vinaigrette. The "Arugula and Arcadian mixed greens" look like they were poured out of last week's Costco bag, and The Wife practically spits out the over-ripe (i.e., "rotten") tomato. Three or four bites, and she pushes the plate away.
The batter-fried cod is more batter than cod, greasy & lukewarm; the fries are as cold as the very saucy coleslaw. Thumbs up for the tablespoon of bottled tarter sauce; no ketchup for the fries.
I can't help thinking how far Noble Hops has fallen from the ahi steak BLT, brewer's board & fish tacos of our first visit, and, while The Barkeep seems nice, I'm not asking him to recommend anything.
The Barkeep wants to know how everything is. Instead of lying, we ask about the still-unlit fire pit. He says, "Oh, yeah," and finally agrees to bring another ale; it arrives with a large ragged chip in the rim of the glass. Some other guy gets the heat going, but that doesn't help the meal much.
The Wife's completely given up on the "salad," most of my fries are still on the plate. The Barkeep brings the tab, and I nearly choke: $89!!!
Best thing we can say is, "The Waitress didn't spill anything." Not for lack of trying and at least not while we were there.
Very sad. We won't be back. read more