Lifestyles of the bored.

Last night while in San Jose, Mr S. and I decided to just do dinner there. We'd decided on a "world famous" steak house. It was just a block away from the protests.

After getting our half basket ball sized loaf of bread, we started to realize we'd made a serious error. This was going to be one of those places that was more a "dining experience" than fine dining. The kind of place that takes an hour and 45 minutes to get out of. Which I oh so hate. At points I seriously considered filling up on bread and leaving. The bread was super awesome. Did I mention the bread?

Anyway. By the time the steaks came - I was telling our server that I wanted the check. Because there is nothing I hate more than waiting an hour and 45 minutes to get through a whole meal, then having to wait another half an hour to get the check. I wasn't irritated in any way. Though I was apologising to Mr S.

He'd worked, then I'd been parading him around to two tea parties. We were just tired.

Though, at this point - I thought the place was just one of those snooty places that people want to hang out in for a few hours while they get their egos massaged by the server. They did read the entire menu to us after all.

When I asked for the check though, all of a sudden a manager popped over to our table. And I swear to you - other than looking bored I didn't have an attitude at all. We were just tired and wanted to leave.

She explained that she was sorry for how long it took to get our order out. Which surprised us. We just figured the service was normal for a place that reads the whole menu to you. Which I deem totally un-necessary. She explained they had a few big tables. Bla bla bla.

The Sharks apparently were in there. If I'd known what any of them looked like, I would have gotten you pictures. They just looked like random jocks to me. She said she'd make it up to us. Whatever.

We got the bill - I noted that they hadn't made anything up to us. Still didn't care. Although I did grouse about the 20% tip on the way back to the car. Because, if the manager wouldn't have said anything I wouldn't have been so aware we'd gotten crappy service. I would have just made a mental note to not come back there unless we had a ton of time to burn. Which we mostly don't. Additionally - who spends 2 freaking hours at a restaurant these days anyway?

So I was going to blog about the restaurant and how annoying it was. Then I realised that when I left reservations - you have to give a phone number. The manager had called and left a VM saying she wanted to make it up to us like she'd promised. Which I'm all conflicted about.

The bread was really good. Yeah - I'm a hick that way. So, I'm betting she wants to send some gift certificate or something, so we come back. Yet, I'm still not sure it isn't one of those snooty restaurants that trap you for two hours. And I'm just not into that.