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| - Okay, so, yes: the decor is divine, original and edgy without being overly trendy or plastic. I sincerely wish my home looked like this. The bathroom sinks? Genius. Cool as hell.
That's kind of where my infatuation with St. Francis ends. My frustration started the second I pulled in the parking lot. Valet only? Really? We're not in Paradise Valley, people. Look to your right. Your evening's backdrop is a busy six lane street-cum-drag strip and Castle Boutique.
Oops! My first interaction with the "hostess" made me wonder once again if somehow I was beamed to PV from central Phoenix. Unsmiling, unfriendly, and downright grim, she refused to seat my party until all were present. And that was that. No directions to the bar, nary a hint of a smile. Maybe her ponytail was too tight or her Tory Burch flats hurt her feet. I don't know. I quickly renamed her The F.N.B., and I will totally give ten dollars to the person who can guess what it stands for.
My friend and I found the bar anyway, with our internal GPS homing devices to alcohol and all. The wine list was okay. Prices average. The syrah was nice, and I was kind of intrigued by the almond margarita, but not willing-to-be-$10-poorer-intrigued. Perhaps more bizarre, I spied more $2000+ handbags on the patio that evening than you can sometimes see in an entire day at Fashion Square. We parked our asses on the patio, drank wine, and bitched until our straggler arrived.
Finally! We are sprinkled with fairy dust and granted admission to the dining room!... but instead we were led back outside. Whatever. Our server was pleasant and prompt - absolutely no complaints. The menu is on the small side, and not what I would call a vegetarian's delight. I ended up with the broccolini flatbread (i.e., pizza), which was a decent size for the $13. It was tasty, but the lemon zest (!) and whole cloves of garlic took its yum factor down a tick or two. My friends each got the whitefish, which at $24 seemed a little steep for a little chunk of fish and three little potatoes. They seemed pretty meh about it, and neither one polished it off.
The highlight of the evening may have been when I laughed at my friend because the valet parked her American SUV in the back and put my new car up front. Hey, that's a first, people. But, really, if that's the best part of the night, what does that say about St. Francis? Kind of a letdown. Not a crashing disappointment like Oh my god, I've been up all night puking up wasabi from that bad sushi, but still a bit of a disappointment nonetheless. WIll I be back? Maybe to park my drunk ass on the patio and spy on the Castle patrons, but probably not for dinner...
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