bad things make good stories

I had a date last week. It was a first date, but sort of not. A 1.5st date. I asked him. And I had been a little giddy about it, then a little dashed, then cautiously optimistic. He's down in Mountain View, and as the gentleman caller I offered to drive down rather than ask that he drive up. He was in the mood for Italian, and suggested a place near where he is house-sitting. A local chain of some regional renown: Frankie, Johnnie & Luigi Too!

The restaurant was just awful. The service was friendly enough but the execution was so far beyond terrible that it made for a terrific date. There comes a point where one has to celebrate a fiasco. And if you are with the right person, and in the right frame of mind, you can have a good time anywhere. Even the band played as the Titanic sank.

Not only did I have a wonderful time for the charming company, but I got a good solid ten minutes of stand-up out of this. For this post, I am going to set aside the odd, tandem waitering of the tall lactose-intolerant skeleton and his diminutive mute shadow ("How do you know he was lactose intolerant?" you ask. Precisely. Why should I know this?), the 70s cliché iceberg salad, and the barely warm, flavorless calzone, and just talk about the cocktail experience (which after the following still took two more attempts to reach "acceptable.").

There was a menu of "specialty martinis" with no regard as to if the drinks there listed were actually martinis, and regardless all were given a -tini suffix. Just a note: a cosmopolitan may be considered by some to be a form of martini, but even then it is not called a "cosmopolitini."

Unable to bear the syrup and dessert concoctions which comprised the specialty menu (how many drinks can one make with chocolate liqueur?), I thought I would try one of their three specific house specials (also promoted as always happy-hour priced!), and while I knew it was a gamble at best I ordered the Manhattan and asked for it in a lowball on the rocks.

When it finally arrived, it was straight up in a martini glass, and it didn't have just one, but TWO BUGS in it. Seriously. To mix a bug in a drink is one thing; to not notice two bugs in such a small glass, with a nearly clear liquid and no ice is another. And the fact that there was more than one fly in the cocktail is just gross. In my head I could hear my mother adding jokes such as "Don't say anything or everyone will want one." or "Well, he won't drink much." Which is all fine and dandy for my mother, but when the sidekick waiter returned with a glass of ice for my cocktail (realizing their mistake) and I told him quite calmly and pleasantly (I am still on my best behavior on this first-point-five date here) that there were bugs in the drink, he actually said "Good thing they don't drink much." And that was it. No apology. No shame. No mea culpas.  No comps. No recognition of the issue that they just served me a glass of bugs as if their error was that I ordered them on the side.

I tried again.

When Icabod returned I asked if they had any orange vodkas (Clementine, Mandarin, L'Orange?).  "Yes," he said, "We have Citron."

Now I have always said that the first rule cocktails is that a lemon is not a lime, but I left that thought unvoiced and asked, "Do you have Mandarin?"
"Yes we do."
"Then I'll have a Mandarin and soda, no fruit. Please.  Thank you."

He returned again some time later to inform me that they had no Mandarin.
"But you have Citron? ...That will do."
"No. Actually, we only have one flavored vodka: PB&J"

Peanut Butter and Jelly flavored vodka. I'm going to let that one sink in a minute. Seriously. A full bar and bar room in the front of the restaurant, and the only infused vodka they have is flavored with peanut butter and jelly.

I was dumbstruck (rare for me I know). So many thoughts ran through my head: "PB&J? Is there a kid's drink menu? That can't be an 'infused vodka'—what would they 'infuse' it with? Is there a distillery somewhere with vats and vats of alcohol steeping with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Is the vodka murky? Do they put in white bread too? Are the crusts cut off? What do they garnish it with? Is there a jelly rim? Is there going to be a wedge of a PB&J sandwich perched on the rim of the glass? Maybe a toast point.  Maybe there will be a peanut butter ball with a plastic sword speared through it. Should I expect a sandwich-based drink to have fewer bugs in it?..."

I looked at the waiter in stunned silence, then nonplussed across the table to my date. Our eyes met and GJ turned to look up at the waiter and asked, "What flavor is the jam?"

Best date ever.