Now before I begin on a completely biased rant– let me state for the literate audience– that I know– SERVING TABLES can be an effortlessly wonderful way to make money… When you don’t suck at life; generally speaking.
However, I also know that it can be a seriously tedious and time consuming job. I also know that sometimes you get customers who literally make you want to bathe small kittens in a vat of acid. But you applied for the job- you accepted the job and you come to the job, every time you are scheduled. So it really is that you don’t really loathe it as much as you say you do, or you just are that lazy that you don’t want to go out and apply yourself for a real job. One that does not have horrible hours, or force you to work every single holiday even if it is the Ramadan. The real life jobs also have insurance benefits, and also require you to jump through hoops and micro manage you to the point of incessant insanity, oh, wait. We aren’t talking about me.
With that being said. Lately my boyfriend and I have as of late; been out to eat more than normal because of an untimely catastrophe forcing me to move home with my dad. God love him. But seriously. Need I say more. Anyways–
So we have been experimenting with places that we do not normally eat because we were looking for something different. Google’s “Find what is near me” and Urban-spoon have been my best friend and, worst enemy these last few months.
Might I say — you should have to have at least a “Decent” *STANDARDIZED* rating on your restaurant to even be considered for the running on these gloriously misleading applications. And not bullshit ones, from people who think McDonald’s has the best cut of beef around, either. Good lord. It seems to be more of a dining nightmare than anything astounding or making a positive memorable dining experience than anything.
And with this all being laid out, and me being the complete anal retentive server that I was– and am; I will say I don’t complain easily because I know what needs to be complained about and what doesn’t.
Mia’s Italian Restaurant- 800 Clinton St, Waukesha, WI 53186
In the most recent stop to a restaurant we had no idea of– It was cold this night, and parking anywhere near the joint was very scarce. I don’t know if you are familiar with Waukesha at all, so if you are not let me brief you.
One way’s, No parking (anywhere… ever) Do not enter, turn only turn only, straight only, left lane merges to a turn right only .
The end. There is no more, or less to say. Everything is always a circle in Waukesha. Adding the constant ebb and flow of one way streets that go nowhere, mixed with the main road being completely ravaged by construction; just makes for an awful joke. Now we ended up parking two lots over and one lot back…. BEHIND the damn restaurant. So already exhausted, after, it only took us about an hour to decide where to eat while driving around Waukesha in circles, against the construction, among the wrong turns and one way nonsense. We finally parked and arrived after a brisk 5 minute walk in the cold windy weather.
We walk in to an off centered door, with sleigh bells (that look like they may have been used in a Christmas movie hailing Rudolph and his reindeer games) that jingled, even still when you closed the door. We stood in a larger dining room, on top of a hostess stand with no hostess. The place seemed old, landmark-y’ish. I am Italian, I remember what my Grandparents house looked like when something was going on… and this was exactly that. With a stinging smell of old leather from the booths; which were lined up on the wall facing out towards the dining room. The concept was very 1980’S New Jersey Italian mob. I was waiting for the Godfather Theme to start playing, and for someone to begin throwing dishes because the sauce didn’t have enough zest.
Ha, but in any way, we waiting there for the hostess, who came out from the other half of the restaurant. I liked the vibe, I felt almost home here. All jokes aside. The contingencies were there. Any Italian is Italian. We have a connection, an ‘understanding’ if you will. The blood is there, we are one in the same. Somehow, some way, somewhere down the line.
The hostess grabbed to small skinny paper menus and guided us in to the smaller of the two dining rooms, which is not totally unusual when you come in to a place at quarter to 8 on a Tuesday, you got it.
So she takes us to the row of booths; again lined up against the right furthest wall, facing out; towards the dining room. Like the old ‘bosses’ used to sit and dine like kings. I was definitely not uncomfortable. More or less enthralled to see something so old and so “talked” about, here in this tiny place in the middle of downtown Waukesha. We open the menus, and we wait.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
and we wait……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
and finally a stocky blonde, angsty looking woman comes to the table and announces she will be taking care of us.. (twenty minutes late). I ordered water with a lemon, Kyle, a diet soda. The usual. I observe, the place is tiny as I mentioned, tiny like you can hear what the table across the way is saying to each other :tiny:. We sit and take a look at the very minuscule selection of traditional Italian fanfare.
They offered the basics, anti-pasti extends mozzarella sticks… (sticks…really !?)… calamari, bruschette, garlic bread. NOW — the waitress still not back with our beverages, which took her a solid 8 minutes to retrieve which I seemed to find highly impossible since I ordered a water, and he a soda, which the water she could have brought back with the check for the table next to us, and then moved 5 feet to her right at a facing position to their table.. and grabbed his soda. Bang boom bam. Quick, accomplished, delivered. As she dropped the drinks off, i had my face buried in the menu. Which was either seriously lacking originality or was so plain and bland it had confused me. Kyle points out, my lemon is MIA. Well that’s fine. I am really not that big of an asshole. Everyone makes mistakes, now me, I very rarely forget things like that, ever. But they are not me and I am not them. So this is sometimes; unfortunately more times than not; to be expected. So I wait patiently for her my lemon.. which does not take place until I have to ask her for one– in which.. she cops an attitude about that as well. We order the calamari— and then place our order, Kyle gets veal Parmesan and I the Cheese Ravioli; which is one of the only things you just cannnnot screw up. I also get a bowl of the minestrone ; which comes with garlic bread. We get the calamari; it is a small 6×2 plate, and a smaller than usual ramekin of what looks like ketchup. I also notice… all rings, no little tiny feeler legs attached to a breaded and deep fried body. Highly disappointing since those are my favorite!! So I try it…. ICK. It is one, frozen… two left in the deep fryer far far too long in what tastes like oil that has not been changed since Harry met Sally. Not a very good indication of what is yet to come, along with the “sauce” if that is even what you can call it. It had the consistency of room temperature gelatin, and chunks of, pepper? I don’t know what it was– but it was very very very far from any marinara sauce. I actually want to say that it may have been some dime store cheap :budget cutter: cocktail sauce// the kind you use to drown your cocktail shrimp in— ? Yeah except not a very good one… or maybe it just was not fresh. However… we ate it.. because it was $10.00 fricken dollars for maybe twenty little tiny ring like rubber like rings- Whatever. Now in this time frame I have used my water to save myself from choking on the calamari– Now as a waitress a ^Golden Rule of the serving game.. is staying on top of your table– anticipating needs before they know they need it. It is your job to look at that table as a map of a battlefield.. this goes here– for when that gets there– when this is that and what have you. This my friends– includes one of the most OBVIOUS things on the table that a person should NEVER have to 1:ASK FOR.. or 2: GO WITH OUT.. ——–Beverages———– If I am not drinking a snifter of 90 dollar scotch, and you don’t have to travel out the back door, down the alley,over the hills, to follow the yellow brick road, to get to the land of oz, to retrieve said beverage.. in my case a water… which at any restaurant; should have a pitcher sweating somewhere near the dining area for quick refill service.. and Kyle a diet coke– which was easily refilled at the soda gun– *shudder* at the bar.. approximately five feet from our table…. We sat until our oil soaked garlic bread– and my bowl of what appeared to be mudded water– with chunks of potato… in a sloppily put together manner…. for her to come back ask how the calamari was (while not clearing the empty plate) go attend to her 3 other tables.. come back again– before I looked at Kyle with a glare so sharp it could slice glass—- which was my signal for “Ask her or I am going to snap” So he did– and she huffed and threw her shoulders back in distaste AGAIN.. because heaven for fucking bid we come out to eat- you serve us- we pay -we tip- and you pay your bills-…. you should have to refill our glasses PER REQUEST. lets just get right to this. The garlic bread was so soaked in a salty oil that I literally could feel my blood pressure exploding in my veins… The soup- something out of the bog of stench in the Labyrinth ….. it was not even the proper color– and lacking allllllll of the vegetables. WHAT THE HELL. Ok sooo I am still sitting — at this point just dying for the food to hit the table so I can spoon around in it for 5 minutes put it in a box– and go home.. at this point we have already been at this restaurant for an hour and half.. and not because we are extreme foodies– we are basic– we know what we want to an extent.. and its simple. Sit down, look, order, eat, pay, leave. At this point I could have skinned a cow ! This time lapse is due to her lackadaisical server error– that continually set her back because apparently she does not know that she won’t get fired if she multi tasks. Here it is the GRANNNNND ENTREES sonofa….. one bite in to my water sauce– with no flavor– that looks a chef boyardee reject– slopped onto 5 palm sized ravioli– that taste like —-well, not cheese. I am not even touching this anymore… Kyles Veal was a resemblance of one of those fart cushions — after you sit on it.. the sauce was the same as mine.. literally did you strain the noodles before you put them to plate or did you skip this step like so many others… I can’t at this point I am so sick of dealing with her decreasing attitude and her irritation to be “serving” more than her fair share of tables…3…. so close to closing time– that I ask for a box, with no eye contact.. which for me is an ungodly sin— she does not bother to ask how the food was– just throws the check down with the box and trots her buxom self back into the server well- where she precedes to eye us up like we are carrying the Bubonic* plague…. Needless to say I did not even stay to see the bill or catch the ever anticipated Styrofoam cup of complimentary Spumoni– which looked like regular Pick n Save sherbet with a few pistachios added for a more {authentic feel} … I will never speak a good word about anything in that place as a whole– from the service, to the poorly constructed table locations– pointing everyone into everyone elses conversations and their terrible meals… to the prices– to the portions, the flavors or lack there of, to the awful decor. I give it a solid 0 on a scale from 0-10… and should you want to have just a completely terrible time that you can write a complainy blog subject on— sure be my guest —- but don’t say I didn’t warn ya… Leave the gun and take the canoli.
wild soul wanderings 