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| - Georgetowne Inn is a style, culinary and service abomination. Located at the top of Mt. Washington, it is perfectly situated for beautiful, romantic meals that should highlight all the wonderful things about Pittsburgh. Instead, it plays into all the old stereotypes some have about Pittsburgh and Pittsburgh food scene.
Entrance: Parking can be difficult on Mt. Washington on weekend nights, so we paid the $5 valet service fee. No biggie, right, because we're about to have a great meal. Besides who wants to walk 5 blocks in dress clothes, because Georgetowne Inn is "dressy." Oh, wait, it's actually not dressy. The hostess was wearing black stretch pants, and many patrons were wearing jeans, shorts, polo shirts, and tank or tube tops. Yes, I saw someone in a tube top. After we check in with the hostess, she proceeds to bring us to one of the worst tables in the place. When we express dissatisfaction and ask for another table, she says we'll have to wait for a better table (despite many being open). But wait, I've had a reservation for 2 week now, doesn't that mean anything? Silly Jill, having a reservation doesn't actually mean anything! See, the good tables are first come, first serve-- duh!
Decor: Oh, wow. Don't get me wrong, there is a special place in my heart for restaurants that are old school. This place is just a joke. Firstly, it's carpeted. Gross. Second, the interior looks remarkably similar to a Steak N Ale. Is it the renaissance in here? Why are there torturous-looking white spikes protruding from the walls and ceiling? How did you manage to get a toilet bowl that is peach with a white tank? These are things I cannot answer.
Ordering: This is where the evening got really spectacular. After waiting for 5 full minutes (with no wine list), I ask the bread girl if she knew where our server was. Five minutes later the server shows up. No greeting, no nothing, just, "Can I get you something from the bar?" We tell her we have the Living Social deal that comes with wine. "Oh, ok. Well, you have a choice between a red and a white." Jill: "Sure. What are the grape varieties that we get to choose from?" Server: "Huh?" Jill: "What types of red and white wines do we get to choose from? For example, a pinot noir or a pinot gris?" Server: "Oh, I don't know it just depends on the bar." Also, it blew her mind that my Living Social deal was on my phone, and she left with my phone for 5 minutes to figure out how to mark it used.
Now we get into ordering food. I'd been looking forward to escargot for weeks, and I happily ordered it as my appetizer. Surprise, they're out of that and 3 other appetizers. OK. Meal order time. I'll have the prime rib. Nope, out. I'll have the crab cakes. Nope, out. I'll have the stuffed shrimp. Nope, out. Just give me the damn steak.
Food: The joke throughout the night was trying to figure out which aspect of the meal was going to give us life-threatening food poisoning. Neil made sure to tell me where the life insurance papers were kept. Raw oysters were served at room temperature. My seafood coquille was gross and looked like cat food. French onion soup looked like dirty dish water and was too salty to eat due to the insane amount of parm cheese. The spinach salad actually wasn't half bad. The bacon dressing, though, did taste more like Bacos bacon than real bacon. Finally, the steaks. They were basically truck stop steaks. You know, they're good because it's a steak, but it's not seasoned at all. We used copious amounts of salt, pepper and some of our blended red wine that remained to season it up. The pasta side was supposed to be in garlic butter sauce, and I tasted no garlic. The broccoli was disgusting and microwaved. Every single table that got broccoli sent it back untouched at the end of the meal.
Other gems: You could hear people yelling in the kitchen. Watching a man in gym shorts and a ratty tshirt deliver food to the bar. Frozen butter. Our waitress not being able to read the wine labels because "she didn't have her glasses on."
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