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| - This had all the makings of a great dinner. Cool space with magnetic walls, a gorgeous hanging fireplace, a single long communal table, interesting menu ranging from vegan to carnivore and plaid plaid galore. As soon as I walked in I felt like I'd stumbled upon some sort of space/time warp and ended up in Williamsburg on Queen St. Unfortunately, as prefaced by the star rating...Oddfellows proved the old adage, "Don't judge a book by it's cover."
The lovely Kat F. had made us reservations at 9pm and strolling in two minutes before I was greeted with the small space, a full table and little bar seats to wait in. The frazzled bartender cum waiter looked a bit horrified when we told him we were here for our 9pm reservation and he told us to "sit back and have a drink, those two are just about to leave". Ok. I asked for a Greyhound. He replied, "What's a Greyhound?" Alright, so this guy's not a bartender. Kat asks about their spiked lemonade and after rifling around in a dirty floor fridge for a bit he brings out a plastic jug of pink sludge and says, "We have some...juice." Ick. I ask about the grapefruit for the Greyhound and he comes up for air with another dubious jug of concentrate and I concede and ask for Hendrick's which he denies they have until I point out the bottle on the shelf. This whole scene at a dive bar? Fine acceptable. But it was pretty ludicrous at a restaurant that charges $25 an entree to be served something you'd drink at a house party at 4am when everyone stops caring that the juice is expired and who knows where the booze came from.
After continuing to wait, the time crept to 9:35 and we decided to order our food so that when we were seated we'd dive right in. 9:50 came around and after watching a homeless crazy do a round poking at diners before being thrown out, the frazzled guy kicks out the couple nursing their empty beer glasses that had been busy trying to decide whose glasses are more ironic. He puts plates of food at the seats and as an afterthought says, "Oh, yeah you guys can go sit down now if you want." Thanks?
I ordered the salad, mysterious "cream sauce" on the side. It was, of course, soaked in said cream sauce but my hunger overpowered. I mostly gravitated toward the croutons as the iceberg lettuce was a bit...chewy. As an entree I had the pork pelly, rabbit and fig compote. I was mostly attracted to the pork belly but it came out...cold. Blech. Word to the wise, never eat cold pork belly...imagine chewing on layers of cold bacon fat. The rabbit stuff could be best described as tuna salad...it was the best tasting thing on the plate though so I gobbled up the mystery goo. Then there was a fig compote that was just a ridiculous addition as it was so potent that I couldn't figure out how it was supposed to compliment the bland meet piles. Kat insisted we go for the brownie a la mode to save our meal and that truly was a gooey hot "forgive us" though my patience was beyond tested at that point.
Perhaps it was an off night but I can't imagine how this place survives. The other diners at our long communal table seemed to all be friends with the owner and kept walking in and out of the kitchen and stoking the fireplace etc. It was like being at a dinner party where we didn't know the hosts or the other guests yet tried to be polite about the food even though nobody's really asking you if you like it anyway.
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