Evening Dinner Adventure

Back from the pub, the Mrs. is still busily crafting sparkly things with my cousin. Once manufacturing ceases and our guests have departed its time for food. I'm not up for cooking and the Mrs. doesn't cook. So it's time to head out. Italian. That's all I ask.

Head out to Bistro Vino. Unfortunately they were hosting a massive wedding. So we head off to Charivari Defintely a budget buster but damn do they make good food.

Off in that direction (1/2 mile away) decide maybe Brennan's would be a good choice. Never been there even though we live less than a mile away. Stellar reputation (and another budget buster).

So throughout the mess of Houston road construction we eventually find Brennan's. But due to navigator error (the Mrs.) we drive past the restaurant and onto a freeway ramp. No biggie, we'll just turn around at the next exit. Good plan until we saw the logjam on the other side of the freeway.

So it's now Mia Bella. Ignore that reviewer for the moment. This is MY friggin' review.

We enter the establishment and it's fairly crowded. Loud. Good sign. Our hostess has a tattoo on her neck. Intersecting equilateral triangles. That was a sign. I ignored it to my detriment.

We're seated at the "we can cram two more people in this place" table. My wife's back is dangerously near a major wait staff throughfare. But we're ok. So our waiter arrives. This must be his day (money earning) job 'cause he looked like he really wanted to be on stage singing angry songs. His skills as a waiter reflected this initial impression.

Ask for the wine list. Open it. OK, this is a 'friggin Italian restaurant, right? SO why is 90% of the wine from California? And now I'm getting pissed. Sparkling wines first. Cristalino Brut, $25. This is a $6 RETAIL sparkling wine. So not only is the wine list innappropriate for the setting but ridiculously overpriced. Scanning the wine list just makes me angrier. I want to leave. But the Mrs. will not have any of that. So I just have to make it through this sad situation. Mr. Angst Waiter returns and I ask for the Pepi Sangiovese ($9 wine, $30 here. Oh the pain). After a glass/bottle communication issue is resolved, chain pierced man goes away.

At this time I notice the tablecloth. Which resides beneath the 'friggin BUTHCER PAPER across the table! Yes, this is authentic Italian.

The Mrs. realizes how much I want to get the hell out of there but she is not budging. Says something about this bad experience making good experiences at restaurants that much better. I'm already a bomb ready to go off and she inserts the fuse.

So surfer hardcore boy shows up with the wine and now I'm in. Have to ride this beast into the ground.

Menu is not inspiring me. There's a seared Ahi tuna in a cilantro jalapeno blah blah blah. Which is interesting. Last time I checked, THERE ARE NO JALAPENOS OR CILANTRO IN ITALIAN COOKING!

And that thoroughfare? Waitress hooks herself on the Mrs purse, ripping the strap off. Lots of apologizing and 'It's OK". I cram myself ever closer to the near table and pull our table closer, hoping to provide some space.

I'm beggining to embarass the Mrs. We order and she gets a salad and a pasta dish. I order the risotto of the day and a roasted pork tenderloin dish.

Salad and risotto arrive. Salad is exceptionally well received by the Mrs. Risotto is actually worthwile (and a value for the price).

Main courses arrive. Good. Damn good. I'm understanding this place now. People come here for the relatively cheap good food. Abundant, inoffensive, nice. A fancy Olive Garden. Wine list at Olive Garden is better (I'm ashamed to know that, but I'm even more ashamed for Mia Bella for being so deficient here)

So I'm calmed down now. This place may be OK. We wondered if there was a corkage fee to bring in our own wine. Actually thought about staying around for dessert.

Until the next party was seated behind us. I noticed immediately. I was punched in the face with a wall of cloying fragrance. I put my napkin to my mouth to filter the heinous fumes. The Mrs. didn't realize the dire nature of the situation and thought I was about to throw up. After the party was seated, the true and insidious nature of this chemical attack made itself manifest.

I could taste it. It started coating the interior of my sinuses and my throat. I wanted to turn around and slap that woman.

Waiter returns. "No, no dessert, WE NEED TO LEAVE".

Two senses (taste and smell) are now destroyed. And I'm pissed again. I'd had a bit of the sour gas (future oilfied definition) throughout the day. The Mrs. thought it might be good if I countered the other table's persistent chemical assault with an assault of my own. But then there are timing issues. Trajectories. Air currents. Planning is required. Contributing to her plan, I thought it might be appropriate if I dropped something while leaving, to better focus my aim.

Alas it was not to be.

So we go to Brennan's for dessert. And actualy make it there. And we're horribly underdresed. So we huddle in the bar, have a ridiculously good dessert, and all is well. And into the moonlight we drove, guiding us home.

Overall a good evening.