“A dining experience, I shall not soon forget, unfortunately!”
Last Friday afternoon I found myself helping a friend get moved into his new digs in Garden Grove.
After a productive trip to Target, we decided to get some dinner, and as it happens there are several restruants across the street from where we were. There is a Joe’s Crab Shack, an Outback and a place called Buca di Beppo. It looked nice enough. There was a queue of people at the door; at least it’s popular. The neon sign above the entrance read “Immigrant Italian Dining”. It made me wonder, if I’m not an Italian immigrant, can I enter?
When we entered we were greeted by two seater-greeters and assured us that we’d have a table in no time.
As I sat in the entry waiting I noticed a full size cut out of Danny DeVito. That should have been the first clue that we should leave the place post haste! Also, I noticed that when people were being seated, they were led through the kitchen. The host had some pre-memorized spiel that I couldn’t quite understand.
When we were sat, I was disappointed that we were not led through the kitchen. I guess we didn’t look the type that would be interested in that type of thing.
The whole place was like a labyrinth of rooms, all gaudily decorated with tasteless kitsch, including colored Christmas lights strung around holographic pictures of the Pope. Was this some kind of joke that I’m not getting? It did remind me of the Spaghetti Factory in San Francisco of the early ‘70’s, maybe that was the vibe they were going for. "Far Out!"
Once seated, and viewing the menu, it occurred me that all the food was served “family style” and al a carte and it was expensive! But I thought, leftovers!
The menu that we ordered was a Caesar salad to start, garlic bread, fettuccini Alfredo, chicken Marsala and short ribs, at least that’s what it said on the menu.
A big crisp salad with the bread was promptly delivered and it was your formula Caesar, very favorable, as was the bread. Then came the chicken; three large breast with three large mushrooms that had be halved.
Now, I’ve ordered chicken Marsala a number of times from various eateries over the years and NEVER have I seen it served like this. The chicken was not halved and pounded to a quarter of an inch in thickness, nor were they tossed in flour prior to cooking. The mushrooms were sautéed in the sauce, such as they were. OK, they’re doing their own take on it… but wait, the sign in front said “Immigrant Italian Dining”. There was nothing immigrant or Italian about this dish. And then I tasted the sauce. If I’m not mistaken it was flavored with honey!!! Or very sweet sherry, not cooking sherry, as some recipes require. The chicken was not over cooked so with the pasta, it was eatable.
Last Friday afternoon I found myself helping a friend get moved into his new digs in Garden Grove.
After a productive trip to Target, we decided to get some dinner, and as it happens there are several restruants across the street from where we were. There is a Joe’s Crab Shack, an Outback and a place called Buca di Beppo. It looked nice enough. There was a queue of people at the door; at least it’s popular. The neon sign above the entrance read “Immigrant Italian Dining”. It made me wonder, if I’m not an Italian immigrant, can I enter?
When we entered we were greeted by two seater-greeters and assured us that we’d have a table in no time.
As I sat in the entry waiting I noticed a full size cut out of Danny DeVito. That should have been the first clue that we should leave the place post haste! Also, I noticed that when people were being seated, they were led through the kitchen. The host had some pre-memorized spiel that I couldn’t quite understand.
When we were sat, I was disappointed that we were not led through the kitchen. I guess we didn’t look the type that would be interested in that type of thing.
The whole place was like a labyrinth of rooms, all gaudily decorated with tasteless kitsch, including colored Christmas lights strung around holographic pictures of the Pope. Was this some kind of joke that I’m not getting? It did remind me of the Spaghetti Factory in San Francisco of the early ‘70’s, maybe that was the vibe they were going for. "Far Out!"
Once seated, and viewing the menu, it occurred me that all the food was served “family style” and al a carte and it was expensive! But I thought, leftovers!
The menu that we ordered was a Caesar salad to start, garlic bread, fettuccini Alfredo, chicken Marsala and short ribs, at least that’s what it said on the menu.
A big crisp salad with the bread was promptly delivered and it was your formula Caesar, very favorable, as was the bread. Then came the chicken; three large breast with three large mushrooms that had be halved.
Now, I’ve ordered chicken Marsala a number of times from various eateries over the years and NEVER have I seen it served like this. The chicken was not halved and pounded to a quarter of an inch in thickness, nor were they tossed in flour prior to cooking. The mushrooms were sautéed in the sauce, such as they were. OK, they’re doing their own take on it… but wait, the sign in front said “Immigrant Italian Dining”. There was nothing immigrant or Italian about this dish. And then I tasted the sauce. If I’m not mistaken it was flavored with honey!!! Or very sweet sherry, not cooking sherry, as some recipes require. The chicken was not over cooked so with the pasta, it was eatable.
The short ribs were another story. It came out boned, two long stringy pieces of beef that had the consistency of a pot roast without the flavor, in a brown gravy peppered with tomato, onion, carrots and celery. All in all the meal was pretty bad with the exception of the salad and the pasta.
So I’m looking around the place and it’s packed and I’m thinking to myself, are these people’s taste buds so numbed by bad fast food that they think a place like this is good? Or have I just become a food snob.
And I think to myself, that clearly is the case, as the waiter brought the $89 bill. For that amount of money I believe I can be a bit of a snob expecting something more from a chain restaurant called Bucco di Beepo which translated literally means “Joe’s Hole”, I should have known!
