January16
Since I’ve done my share of fawning all over my favorites, I’ll just go ahead and add a new category for restaurant reviews that carry my share of opinions & recipe links based on dishes I’ve had. But really, it won’t be totally specific to the restaurant. I have my share of bitchin’ to do, so you know it will be about trends in eating out in general.
Tonight we dined at the Newportville Inn in Levittown, Pennsylvania. Have you ever had one of those debates about whether to return in the restaurant? Yeah, see, I’m okay with having that discussion. I figure if a member of the waitstaff turns up in the middle, it’s not the end of the world. They might overhear something they are either doing wrong or right. Sebastian, eh, not so much. He’d rather wait until we’re outside.
This was one of those joints.
We’re on a new mussels kick. Neither one of us had ever had them until recently, and we loved them so much that we’ve regularly started making our own at home. We also order them pretty much any time they are on the menu at any restaurant. Not so much at Newportville Inn again. They were small, the liquid they were cooked in wasn’t very good, and they tasted fishy & weren’t the cleanest.
But our server, oh my lord. Really. A clue bat wouldn’t have helped. Sebastian best summed it up with, “It’s a good thing you’re cute because at least you can f*ck you way out of Bristol.” There was a special that wasn’t featured on the menu. We heard about it only after the couple behind Sebastian was seated and another waiter informed them. Fortunately for our waitress, I didn’t want it. Otherwise, I would have been unhappy.
However, I was unhappy when I asked for balsamic vinaigrette and was told they don’t have it. Rather than being offered a selection of dressings they do have, I was left to guess at another choice. But it gets better. During the meal, I learn from the waitress serving the couple sitting behind me that they do have balsamic vinaigrette & red wine vinaigrette. Unhappy me begins.
Earlier, I had requested a beer menu since this is a joint that advertises they have a decent beer selection. She handed me a handwritten list of draft beers. I didn’t see anything I was craving, so I opted for a glass of white wine. When another server offered to refill Sebastian’s beer, we learn that they do have a beer menu and it’s roughly 3 times the size of the one I was shown. Unhappiness continues. Especially when we discovered that they serve just about the cheapest foreign beer selection you can find. Hell, we’ll be back there just for those beer prices. But we wouldn’t have known if it had not been for the waiter who was not our own. *sad face*
When we decide we’ll split a bottle of Chimay Grande Réserve, she claimed she didn’t even know if they had that beer. Chick, hello, beer menu. And it wasn’t out of stock because the table behind Sebastian ordered some right before us. And then, oh lord, when she brought it to us. There are appropriate glasses which you expect that a joint bragging about its beer would know. But no, we got the waitress who didn’t. I don’t know all of my perfect beer glasses, but I also don’t work in a tavern. If I did, I would.
The food fell somewhere above the waitress’s intellect, but below hopes for the only German-influenced joint in our immediate area. Sebastian’s knockwurst was pretty good, but his bratwurst was far too salty. I know this because he’s still craving something to drink as we sit here at home. He also reported that their sauerkraut tasted as salty as though it came out of a bag. Yo, kitchen, you’re supposed to wash that off. Really. Eewwww. Fortunately, my dish was more reasonable. The roasted chicken wasn’t anything to write home about, but it was fine enough.
Out waitress is need of a meeting with the clue bat really hit a homerun when she offered Sebastian a to-go box when he had just a few bites of his meal left. Meanwhile, I was sitting with half a chicken on my plate with most of my sides and she just walked off. (Sebastian pointed out that her incentive was not to serve me since he was the man who might possibly have money. Point taken because that’s the only hope this chick has…really.) I had to eventually request a box, and even then I wasn’t hopeful. She brought me one, but come to find out as I watch another couple leaving, the other servers not only brought boxes to their customers, but bags to carry them out, too. I didn’t get a bag.
The main upside to this joint was cheap, decent beer and a reasonably priced take-out store on the side. We may go back to drink, but if we go to eat, we’ll make sure to request the male waiter who told the people behind us that he has been there since 1990 – the one who knew how to serve beer, offered up specials, and even knew what dressings they had for the salads. How refreshing. We will, however, skip the mussels and possibly the bratwurst.
Oh yeah, and their bread. When they brought the bread to the table, one piece was actually frozen in the middle. Clearly, they are a reheat and serve joint. But come on, can’t you even fully reheat? Fortunately, the bread thawed for us on the table.
So is it worth eating reheated (frozen) bread & terrible service with a waitress who was confused by terms like vinaigrette to get cheap, decent beer? I vote yes – sometimes.
