| rev:text
| - Amateur Hour: How Dinner Could Have Gone Terribly Wrong But Somehow Ended Up Being Rock Solid
The setting: New Year's Eve, six o'clock, South Tempe and Ahwatukee
The players: The ravenous Mr. Man and Me, a Black Mitsubishi Montero on a mission
Granted, going out for dinner on New Year's Eve is by and large a mistake. Holidays are the times when it's most likely the stresses placed on the kitchen and wait staff may result in frazzled service and a less than savory dining experience. But ramen for dinner was out of the question. (I've tried to keep that survival food to a minimum since graduating.) So what's a gal to do?
Hop into the hooptyville and cruise in search of something better than soggy shoestrings. Doesn't sound like much of a challenge at first until our two players realize that it's New Year's Even and they're pretty fucked for A) Places that still have seats open cuz all the smart folks made reservations, B) Places that are open at all cuz nobody wants to work when there's bubbly to be had and C) Places other than 24 hour greasy spoons cuz even fast food joints close on New Year's Eve.
45 minutes elapse in which our players dart in and out of establishments encountering option A, drive by potential restaurants while encountering option B, and almost succumb to option C. Enter Ruffino's, a humble little Italian Restaurant located in a strip mall dangerously close to the suburbs of Ahwatukee.
So we saunter up and politely wait our turn for the hostess to be free. "Two. No, we didn't make reservations." And the flibbertigibbet proceeds to seat two parties milling around us without even informing us whether dining there was a possibility. Again, she turns to us. "Do you have an open table for two? No, we didn't make reservations." Again, she proceeds to seat others. Lots and lots of others.
Oh no you did not just rouse the bitch from her slumber. The pursed lips, raised eyebrow and death stare begin to surface. Mr. Man senses the subtle change, "Do you just want to go and find somewhere else to eat?"
A cold, calculating response with an edge sharp enough to cut the horrid poodle hair off the twit that's been snubbing us spews out. (I can't recall what it was exactly. The vitriol clouds memory, often with good reason.)
Then our savior, a tux dressed waiter out of stage left, greets us with a smile and ushers us to a table for two in the bar area. The bitch circles three times before settling down for a snooze so Erica can enjoy a nice meal with Mr. Man.
Since it was a busy holiday they only had three seating times and a truncated menu, but that just makes it easier for an indecisive gal like me to make up my mind. Mr. Man goes with his favorite, the Veal Marsala. I opt for the Veal Ruffino, prosciutto and mushrooms sauteed in a tarragon brandy cream sauce layered over veal medallions. Yes I eat poor caged baby cows. And I do it because they taste goooooood. My meal was perfection, with a side of al dente rigatoni in marinara and perfectly steamed petite julienne vegetables. The marsala wasn't as stellar, but I'm not the one that had to consume it, so to each their own.
The meal came with garlic bread, which was respectable, and a salad that was delish! Their house vinagrette was rockin'. We also decided to kick off the evening with a bottle of chardonnay that was chilled in one of them thingys that stands by your table.
There were balloons and streamers and live entertainment in the form of a super stellar, pitch perfect showman all tuxed out and belting out classics while playing the piano. Cutesy couples were even requesting songs and dancing with their sweeties. Aww. The sap in me just melts. See that puddle of goo at your feet? That's me. Don't step in it.
There was also a nice program they were running that night where they would take you home for a flat rate of 10 bucks within a 15 mile radius so you didn't ring in the New Year with a DUI. Now that's class.
I don't know if I'd ever go back here again (leetle on the pricey side at 20-30 bucks for an entree) but if you're in the area and looking for a dining experience rather than straight calories, hit it up!
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)
![[cxml]](/fct/images/cxml_doc.png)
![[csv]](/fct/images/csv_doc.png)
![[text]](/fct/images/ntriples_doc.png)
![[turtle]](/fct/images/n3turtle_doc.png)
![[ld+json]](/fct/images/jsonld_doc.png)
![[rdf+json]](/fct/images/json_doc.png)
![[rdf+xml]](/fct/images/xml_doc.png)
![[atom+xml]](/fct/images/atom_doc.png)
![[html]](/fct/images/html_doc.png)