Not being a golfer, I can't informatively critique the course. Not being a boozehound (at least not at 1 in the afternoon among older strangers), I can't comment on the strength of the drinks. I really wish I could, because the single thing I did experience at the Oak Knoll Golf Course Restaurant really called for a pitcher of margaritas or a round of Jaeger shots. I was part of a group of about 15 people. The restaurant provided five lunch choices, the most complicated one involving a piece of grilled chicken on a bed of greens. With that math, you might expect the wait time for the food to be a good half hour, maybe a little less if there aren't too many other customers.
Try close to an hour. In that hour, a server showed up to take the orders and remained out of sight until the plates were distributed. The ravaged plate of stale nachos caked with solidified cheese that had been put out as an appetizer remained on the table until the food arrived, and that removal had to be requested. Condiments were brought after the food arrived, and only because people had the audacity to ask for ketchup for their lukewarm fries. The servers could hardly remember who ordered what. As part of the prolonged pre-lunch conversation, a person across the table asked me what line of work I'm in. I replied, "Rallying against horrid customer service."
The only conclusions I can draw are that the two people manning the restaurants aren't really trained to be servers. That anyone ever receives food in the golf course restaurant is a lucky result of prayer and magic elves. Or they figured, given the size of the party, no one would notice how long the food took to show up. I did the calculations: The turkey sandwich I ordered consisted of a creamy pesto sauce that tasted nothing like pesto, a few shaves of turkey, cheese, and a layer of greens. It took approximately 10 minutes of preparation time for each layer of my sandwich. For a nearly $9 meal, I half expected a winning lottery ticket to appear on one side of the ciabatta. But I'm still poor and quite certain that if I ever find myself in Independence with an empty stomach again, I'd be better off with snacks from the gas station. read more