AOC - Not A-OK
I'm a planner. And, as you may have noticed, I'm a bit of a foodie too. This is why I wasn't too concerned when the team putting together my friend Stacie's bachelorette party asked for my input in terms of restaurants.
The fete was to begin with a trip to the glam nail salon Jin Soon on Jones Street in the West Village, so the bride-to-be and gal pals could be pampered before partying. Wanting to keep the mellow vibe in play, I scouted the neighborhood for a sweet, elegant bistro with an adult sensibility and garden.
When I happened upon AOC on Bleecker at Grove Street I thought it would be ideal. The bistro's garden was charming and co-conspirator Jenn and I were delighted by an appetizer of Salmon Tartare - downed in the name of reconnaissance.
The next day I made a reservation for 10 for the Saturday night in question, explaining that it was a special occassion and that we'd like the garden if it was good weather - a table overlooking the garden, if the weather was bad. Three days before the party, three ladies dropped out of the plans. I called AOC, let them know about the change in number and reconfirmed that we wanted the garden if the sun was shining. The hostess said it wasn't a problem and that I didn't need to call again for another confirmation, unless the party number changed.
Saturday night arrived. The manicure/pedicure part of the evening's festivities went off without a hitch. I decided to sashay the two blocks to AOC alone since Stacie's nails were still drying and all of us wanted to make sure they didn't think we were bailing on the reservation. The rest would join me in the next few minutes.
It was a lovely night. The nail treatments had been divine and now we had a garden supper and bottles of vino to look forward to - potentially followed by swank cocktails at a downtown lounge if the bride was up for it. It looked like we'd put together a winner evening...
Not so fast.
My friend Pam, who had skipped the Jin Soon part of the plan, was already at AOC's bar when I arrived. She looked at me with concern: There was a problem with the reservation.
Apparently, they didn't have a table for us in the garden.
It must be a mistake.
But, no. I spoke to the manager who insisted that the restaurant NEVER takes reservations for the garden. I told her that I wouldn't have even MADE the reservation if I had been told that was the case. She wasn't sympathetic. She only had a table in the back room - a room WITHOUT air-conditioning that was sweltering hot.
This was unacceptable. I asked how long we'd have to wait at the bar to get a table in the garden. She snapped back that she would NEVER give us a table in the garden, as she wouldn't want to pull the tables for four or two together. I stared at her in disbelief. Who was this woman? She may have had a French accent, but, honey, Alain Ducasse this was not. It was a bistro in the West Village and we were a table of seven with a long-standing reservation that had planned on dropping a good deal of moolah at this dining establishment.
That was it! There was NO way that AOC was getting my hard-earned money that night, unless Stacie really was taken with the joint. There are too many restaurants in NYC to deal with that brand of unwelcoming, ungracious service.
Thankfully, Stacie couldn't agree more when she arrived a few minutes later and a few short minutes after that I had secured a table for seven at Home on Cornelia Street. They couldn't do the garden, but promised that the dining room was air conditioned. And, having dined there several times, I knew the food would be fresh and delicious.
It was - from the refreshing Chilled Tomato and Cucumber Soup with a Watermelon Slaw to the Roast Chicken with Garlicky Greens, Spicy Onion Rings & Homemade Ketchup. And, just as importantly, the staff was welcoming and gracious. Making us feel - forgive the pun, but it's unavoidable - at home.
Thank goodness for happy accidents. And, thank goodness I have a venue to vent about establishments like AOC. Clearly, they didn't want my money, nor that of my friends. I strongly suggest you don't share any of yours with them either.