Marooned on Valentine's Day
I should know better. Valentine's Day, along with New Year's Eve and Mother's Day, is one of the biggest restaurant rip-off days of the year. But, considering that I'm without a boyfriend at present, the idea of girl's night featuring fattening fare and several cocktails sounded like a wonderful anti-hearts and flowers plan.
Boy was I wrong.
The set-up sounded okay. I was joining my friends Stacy and Maureen along with several of Maureen's friends for dinner at Maroons in Chelsea. What was especially appealing - beyond the fact that Maroons had won acclaim for its Fried Chicken and other calorie-laden Southern specialties - was the notion that the table would be half straight/half lesbian, so we could share dating war stories from both sides of the fence. Figured that our bubbly, wise-cracking, sexy table would eventually lure other diners - from either sides of the fence - and you can take the "Sex and the City" storyline from there.
Well, there was one SATC moment: I thought I was going through something akin to Samantha's chemo-induced hot flashes the second I walked in the door. It was sweltering at Maroons bar - with no hope of the air conditioner being turned on, according to the proprietress.
Thankfully, she moved us to a cooler room for dinner. Unfortunately, she placed our party at what I'm sure was really meant as a table for four. It made for an extremely tight squeeze for our seven.
Then, to make matters worse, contrary to expectations that this highly-unromantic, laid-back, noisy, neighborhood spot would be filled with singletons such as we, the place seemed to be swarming with quiet couples. And, none of them looked too happy to see a gaggle of gals in the corner. Even the waitstaff seemed distressed - when we actually saw a member of the waitstaff.
I could go into graphic detail about the wholly mediocre food: the overly garlicky and annoyingly spicy Caesar salad; the bland Fried Green Tomatoes; the crackling, yet uninspired Fried Chicken; the wimpy, flavor-challenged Stuffed and Smothered Pork Chop. The taste of bread pudding I allowed myself wasn't even worth the calories. It was mushy and literally drowning in a harsh, unpleasant rum. (And, how often have you heard me criticize the use of alcohol in cooking or baking?) Even the coffee was lousy - grey, cold and lousy.
The bill per person, including 4 bottles of wine: $100.
Like I said, a Valentine's Day dinner isn't really the true judge of a restaurant experience. But still, after forking over a cool Benjamin and going home with a nasty belly ache, I don't think I'll be looking to get Maroon-ed again on February 14th. Next year, I cook or order in.
But, then again if some handsome man wants to take me to an elegant spot like Per Se, per se, how could I refuse? But, you know, it might just be more fun on February 15th.