Let me preface this review by saying that we had heard great things about Sage and were expecting to have a wonderful experience. That is definitely not what we got. If I could have rated Sage a zero, I would have.
The nicest word I can think of to describe the hostess is meretritcious. It seemed like she was doing us some great favor to say hello and show us to our seat. I have been a hostess for a much busier restaurant for two years and I understand the importance of first impressions and greeting every guest with a smile. The hostess at Sage apparently does not. Her eyes were rimmed with so much black eye liner, it looked more like war paint than make up. I also felt that her blouse was too low cut for a "fine dining" establishment. The rest of the staff was dressed very professionally, all in black. I wondered why the hostess would be allowed to wear such a revealing top while working. Weaving her way through the dining room on her flip flops, she led us to what I can only assume was our table because never said another word to us. It was as if we didn't exist. She casually tossed the menus down on the table, the whole time having a loud and inapproprate conversation with a gentleman at the bar, some 12 feet away. It made me very uncomfortable. She was already walking away from us, oblivious to the effect her brashness was having on me and some of the other guests.
We waited for about ten minutes for someone to take our drink order or to even acknowledge our presence before my boyfriend actually got up and went to the bar, where he waited another ten minutes. When the bar tender finally appeared behind the bar, stinking so bad from cigarette smoke that I could smell it from my seat, she walked right past him and helped the group of older gentlemen who were gathered at the far end. In my opinon, some of them probably didn't need anymore to drink. As I said, the bar was only 12 feet from where I sat and their conversation was appalling! I could not believe that they dared say all these disgusting things loud enough for the bar tender to hear. I expected her to admonish them or to at least suggest that they watch their language in mixed company. Something!
And then she opened her mouth.
I have never heard a woman speak that way. You would have thought I was in the alleyway behind a truck stop, not a fancy restaurant at a Country Club. I've heard a dirty joke or two, but the awful stream of oscenities spewing from her mouth actually hurt my ears. She also thought it was the height of wit, her sharp chuckles loudest in the din. By the time she finished her filthy rant and finally prepared our cocktails, a full half an hour had passed since we walked in the door and every additional minute made me regret that decision more and more. As he returned with our drinks, I watched the bar tender as she blatantly ogled him from behind. Believe me, I was more than ready to get up, walk out and make a quick stop at Taco Bell on the way back into town. My wonderful boyfriend reminded me that what we had actually heard about Sage was how amazing the food was and not to let a couple desperate women derail our "fabulous" evening out.
I murmured an acquiescense and began thumbing through the menu. It wasn't long before we encountered the next problem: we seemed to be seated in every server's blind spot. There were plenty of people scurrying about, but none would actually make any eye contact. No one ever came to take our order. After I choked down a subpar Lemon Drop Martini and wasted an hour of my life, my boyfriend fianlly managed to flag down a busser. The poor kid looked as scared as an abused puppy when he asked to speak to the manager. He was able to squeak out the word "owner" as he jabbed his finger over towards the front door. But the only person over that way was the haughty hostess. Then it dawned on me. The hostess with the mostest (showing) was the owner! This information just confused me. I've always believed that you should "dress to impress", not only in the work place but at all times. A lesson women of a certain age should have already learned. Waiting once more for her or anyone to address our complaint was more than I could bare. I begged my man to take me any where else. He didn't want to feel invisible any more, either, so he approached the bar to pay for our 2 drinks. Just so the mousy mixologist knew she was out of her league, I walked up behind him an placed some cash on the bartop. As she took it, I noticed she was far from dextrous. The usual adroitness of a Pintswoman was absent here and she returned my change with shaky hands.
She mumbled something unintelligeable, probably unkind, as we made our way outside. Sage may very well have the best food in the Central Coast. All of California, for that matter. I will never know. I will never go back there. What the owner of Sage failed to demonstrate to me is this: customer service is all about how to best service the customer. Every customer. read more
