Girl Meets Food

I had dinner at Vidalia for Restaurant Week in January, and I’ll let you be the judge of my experience.

I made a reservation for Tuesday night at 6:15pm.  (I prefer to go at a time when restaurants aren’t slammed.)  All day, I had been gushing to Ken Noli, Tofutti Cutie, and Angus about how phenomenal Vidalia is.  It would be their first time dining there, and the fourth time for me.

I called ahead to inquire about valet parking.  The hostess on the other end informed me that it was complimentary parking.  But Angus arrived first and texted me that it was actually $8.00.

I called Vidalia again, where the host confirmed a little impatiently, “No, the parking is not complimentary.  We’re already running a promotion for Restaurant Week.” And hung up.

We arrived fifteen minutes early, so Lenny the maître d’, who was warm and welcoming, showed us to the bar for cocktails.  He even picked up my scarf from the floor which I had unknowingly dropped.

When our table was ready, Lenny told us we could transfer our check, while Gary the bartender disagreed.  Not one to argue, Ken handed Gary a credit card.

We sat down in the bright, elegant dining room, bustling with patrons, unaware of the impending storm that would be our server.

Alex, a dismissive, abrasive brute who would be better suited at Guido’s Brew ‘n’ Thru, made us feel like children unwelcome at the adult table.

As he rattled off answers to our questions then rushed off, I looked around.  Did we look like homeless people?  Did I have “cheapskate” scribbled on my forehead?  I felt very uncomfortable while we waited for our appetizers.

Angus was showing Ken something on the menu when Alex pulled up to the table and said, “Please do not bend the menu, sir. They’re very expensive.  I wouldn’t care but, my manager gets on me about that.”

We all stared at him in stunned silence.

The ensuing meal was so overshadowed by bad service, I can’t tell you what the food was like.  Then Alex tossed us the check without asking if we wanted coffee or anything else.

Really?

Are we so deplorable that you are forced to play tabletop horseshoes?  Angus countered pointedly, “We would like a cheese plate, please.”

Since Alex had already rung us up and didn’t feel like opening the check again, we received the cheese plate with his compliments.  How thoughtful.

As we did the sad Charlie Brown walk to the door, I quietly took general manager Michael Nevarez aside and explained everything.  He assured me that “this won’t happen again.”

In the end, one server does not represent the entire restaurant, and this one dinner does not take away from the incredible Restaurant Week dinners I had at Rasika and Columbia Firehouse.  But boy, if this one “Restaurant Weep” doesn’t haunt me forever.

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