Friday, August 17, 2007
Calico Jack's...DOWNGRADED
Awhile ago, I blogged that Calico Jacks on the North Shore, while not worth going out of the way for was OK for a pregame dinner. Well, I have to now downgrade Calico Jack's as an AVOID. Sadly, it has slipped to the horrid service and standards of its stablemate, the truly awful McFadden's.
The Mrs. and I headed down to the ballgame early tonight, with the intention of grabbing some grub at the Bettis Grille. Unfortunately, Bettis' place was packed, and remembering the unremarkable but serviceable din-din I had at Calico Jack's, we headed there.
The place was basically deserted. Aside from a few weirdo's at the bar (including one woman wearing an over sized purple swashbuckler's hat with white fur trim) there were only three other tables with diners. We were quickly herded to a table by a greeter who wore a black dress with an open back that revealed her ass. Fine for clubbing but totally inappropriate for a restaurant. Ass-crack is rather off-putting for dinner.
We then waited nearly 15 minutes for a waitress in this nearly empty eatery to attended to us. We were literally two minutes away from walking out at this point. We should have. I ordered the chicken fajitas while the better half got a chicken taco salad.
When the food came, wifey got a blob of lettuce layered with globs of taco-type toppings in a flatbread bowl. I got burned fajitas. Yes burned, and I cannot believe any chef allowed this disaster to leave the kitchen. As it arrived, I could smell the burning food. The chicken strips were dried out clumps of jerkey, and the beans and rice were served in the fajita pan. The burning smell was from the carbonized beans and rice subjected to blistering heat of the pan, and as for flavor? Nonexistent.
The fajita fixins were crammed into a quarter-moon dish, and arranged in such a way that is was impossible to add tomatoes if you also didn't want sour cream or guacamole. You also didn't have the option of guacamole OR sour cream, as both condiments were engaged in carnal relations.
Now some of you would have sent this crap back. I'm not that way. I choked down what I could, stiffed Shanyn, our lazy and inattentive server on the tip, and bitched to the manager, letting him know we wouldn't be back and I'd be telling everyone I knew about this experience. He wanted to "try and make it right" but how could he? You really get only one chance in the restaurant industry, and once you fuck up, you're fucked.
The Mrs. and I headed down to the ballgame early tonight, with the intention of grabbing some grub at the Bettis Grille. Unfortunately, Bettis' place was packed, and remembering the unremarkable but serviceable din-din I had at Calico Jack's, we headed there.
The place was basically deserted. Aside from a few weirdo's at the bar (including one woman wearing an over sized purple swashbuckler's hat with white fur trim) there were only three other tables with diners. We were quickly herded to a table by a greeter who wore a black dress with an open back that revealed her ass. Fine for clubbing but totally inappropriate for a restaurant. Ass-crack is rather off-putting for dinner.
We then waited nearly 15 minutes for a waitress in this nearly empty eatery to attended to us. We were literally two minutes away from walking out at this point. We should have. I ordered the chicken fajitas while the better half got a chicken taco salad.
When the food came, wifey got a blob of lettuce layered with globs of taco-type toppings in a flatbread bowl. I got burned fajitas. Yes burned, and I cannot believe any chef allowed this disaster to leave the kitchen. As it arrived, I could smell the burning food. The chicken strips were dried out clumps of jerkey, and the beans and rice were served in the fajita pan. The burning smell was from the carbonized beans and rice subjected to blistering heat of the pan, and as for flavor? Nonexistent.
The fajita fixins were crammed into a quarter-moon dish, and arranged in such a way that is was impossible to add tomatoes if you also didn't want sour cream or guacamole. You also didn't have the option of guacamole OR sour cream, as both condiments were engaged in carnal relations.
Now some of you would have sent this crap back. I'm not that way. I choked down what I could, stiffed Shanyn, our lazy and inattentive server on the tip, and bitched to the manager, letting him know we wouldn't be back and I'd be telling everyone I knew about this experience. He wanted to "try and make it right" but how could he? You really get only one chance in the restaurant industry, and once you fuck up, you're fucked.
Labels: calico jack's, froth eats, pans, reviews
