| rev:text
| - I used to frequent AZ 88 when I used to live in the Scottsdale. I loved it for its setting--somewhat hidden, somewhat quiet, trendy enough but not too much that it suffocates. I enjoyed their food because of its simple decadence--sandwiches with no-frills sauces, grilled vegetables with a tangy sauce that doesn't over power, and their waffle fries that make you curse Atkins until his dead (oh, wait, he IS dead). Best of all, I enjoyed their drinks. Always refreshing, always exciting, and always seem to creep up to you when least expected giving you a pleasant buzz that makes everyone around you appear like they're on high definition.
So, really the 2 measly stars are not for the food, ambiance, or drinks. They're for SLADE.
It's been a couple of years (or more) since we visited AZ 88. I thought of going there for dinner last weekend to celebrate Fathers Day. Afterall, it used to be one of my husband's favorite eating joints. So I invited my parents, my kids and of course my husband, to have a quiet enjoyable dinner over there.
We immediately found a table for 6--a good sign. Everything was going great until SLADE came along. Slade was our slick, "I-really-ought-to-be-in-LA-acting" waiter. The minute he saw our group, he immediately put on his scowl face and his "why-do-I-end-up-with-these-people" attitude. Was it the kids? Or was it the rare Asian people who made up our group?
(And just a note: my kids grew up eating in restaurants--from SeaSaw to In and Out, and yes they've eaten at AZ 88 before. They've done it all because I don't cook. They even order mom's drinks...for her, of course. And yes, my parents speak English...like the kind you can understand!)
Two seconds after settling to our table, he asks what we would like to drink. I have never felt pressured in my life to think of an alcoholic concoction. Five seconds had passed, and Slade was already sending off telepathic messages to me, saying "hurry up, bitch, you're wasting my time." So I finally blurted out, "Could you please give us a couple of minutes to think. We'd like to see a drink menu, if we could." He grabbed a drink menu, plopped it on the table, and quickly pivoted and sashayed away from our table without saying a word.
I don't know about you, but I thought that was rude.
When we finally decided on our drink orders, Slade's OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder) became apparent. He couldn't care less if we had enough ketchup, or if we needed more tangy sauce for the vegetables, or if we needed any kind of condiment to compliment our respective meals.
All he cared about was making sure that each of our drinks was set on a napkin.
He watched each of us like a hawk, making sure that, as we set our glass down, it was placed on a napkin! One time, my son unknowingly set his water glass on HALF the napkin, and Slade was right there to set things right for him, accompanied with an annoyed sigh, of course. Never once did he ask if we needed anything else...he just wanted to make sure that our glasses were on napkins!
Thank god for the food, and the drinks. Those did not fail us. My husband enjoyed that part. But SLADE, and his OCD, oh and his over-gelled hair...that's gotta go!
Thus 2 stars.
|
![[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)