I was craving American-Italian food last night. Every now and then I get the urge for something smothered in Italian cheeses and tomato sauce. Living in Norther New Jersey, there are countless Italian dining options beyond the chain restaurants. Opting to do something different than our staple Italian retaurants, my mother and I set out for Sicilian Sun in Ho-Ho-Kus. My sister used to live in Ho-Ho-Kus and often sang the priases their amazing pizza, and my mother had been there before, so we were off.
Right off the bat, the atmosphere is so-so. We were given the option of dining in the "pizza" side of the restaurant, or the "dinner" side. I wanted dinner, so off we went. The dining room is in need of a serious upgrade. Too many mirrors, too many tiny lights, not enough booths, etc. The colors were also quite washed out, but at the end of the day, if the food is good, a less-than-desirable atmosphere will fade away.
Things started out promising. We were offered drinks right away. Then the kiss of death. For once in my dining life, I was indecisive. I am not an indecisive diner normally, particularly when I have a craving, but last night I was torn between Manicotti, Lasanga, Tortellini Bolognese, Fettuccini Bolognese, Veal Parmaggiano, Veal Francaise, and Veal Milanese. So when the waiter returned with our drinks and I was still poring over the menu, he gave us more time....too much more time. He did not return to the table for our order for another 10 minutes.
As a "sister of the service industry," I am hugely put off by poor service, particularly poor, unapologetic service. I have been in the weeds, screamed at, overwhelmed, known someone's meal was bad, etc. I've been there, I allot for circumstances beyond the staff's control, but this was just poor service.
We ordered sauteed escarole as an appetizer. It was superb - fresh, hot, spicy, crunchy, garlicky... up until the last bite, which was like biting into a handful of sand. I couldn't even complain, as it was literally the last bite. How do you clear your plate and then say it sucks? Credibility was totally lost at that point. So I let it go.
I noticed throughout our meal "mama" going around the dining room, greeting regular patrons, helping to serve, etc. Mama appeared to be the owner, and like a bad mother, was visibly playing favorites. Now restaurant owners, I ask you this, how do you expect to expand on your clientele and draw in more regular customers if you treat the new customers like the dirt on your shoes? Naturally, when the meal took a downturn, Mama was nowhere to be found.
On to the main courses. My mother got Veal Piccata over Spinach and I finally had settled with Veal Parmaggiano. I took the first bite and it tasted okay, minus the fact it seemed to be floating. The veal was not as crispy as I would have liked, but it was still pretty tasty. After another bite I realized it was soggy. I am not sure if the sauce was too watery, the mozzerella fresh and not drained prior to placing it over the dish, or what, but I literally lost the last bit of dining KLASS I had and drained my dish onto my bread and butter plate. The food was still soggy. Naturally, Pancho Villa our waiter was nowhere to be found...so much for the "2 minute, 2 bite" rule of hospitality. My mother flagged down a busperson for me and said something about my food being bad, and the busperson then in turn entered another dimension to pull out the waiter. I showed him the pool of watery sauce and how the cheese was squishing over the veal and sauce. The one thing he did next was perhaps the only quality service move he maked, he offered to get me a new dish, no questions asked. What's happening back in the kitchen is beyond me, but I have faith in many kitchens, as again, a veteran cook. But we'll see...
I had a dish of angel hair pasta to accompany my food which was left behind, but when the waiter took my food, he took my untensils with it. Being a stubborn Greek, I refused to let my mother grab a fork off another table. Instead, I fantasized about the final scene in Coming to America - "Taste the soup! Taste the soup!" "Where's the spoon?" "AH-RHA!" Naturally, the moment didn't come. The pasta got cold, the runner apologetically (perhaps the classiest of the service bunch) set down my food, and I asked for silverware, which he in turn took off another table and never replaced. I felt sorry for the bastard who was going to sit there next.
Near the end of my meal the waiter asked if my food was better, but that was perhaps because I stared him down. Luckily, the new dish was, and it arrive much hotter than my first order.
Another couple sat down next to us, obviously regulars. As we waited for the check (another eternity), I listed to the waiter tell them about the specials - a luxury we were denied when we first ordered. I began to realize eventually the place must be a front, and as a Greek mother-daughter combo, we obviously were not connected. It still upsets me, though, because the place really did have good food...okay, minus the sand incident.
I'll take the Olive Garden over this place just about any day. I figure it's the difference between purgatory and hell.
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