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| - "Go easy on the Gladstone Melody Bar," my conscience tells me. "Sure, they had no record of your reservation for a booth for six, but they did manage to squeeze you into a cruddy table for four - only TWO of your friends had to stand at any one time. Sure, they took over an hour between giving you the cheque, honouring their FourSquare discount and letting you get the heck out of there, but it was a busy night. Sure, there was that one time that you had the scrambled tofu brunch plate, but that... that was actually a good time."
The Melody Bar is a beautiful space, and most of the times that I've been there, it's been for the monthly Simpsons Trivia, which has become such a zoo that you really can't expect decent dinner service. It's still a good time though, but that's despite the Melody Bar staff, not at all because of them. Yes, it's a busy night, but the quality of a restaurant's staff is tested during busy nights, and they've disappointed too many times - it's not like they weren't expecting the rush. Having no record of my reservation, that makes me feel like a chump, a feeling I can do without.
The food itself is decent, but not exactly up to par with the price you pay for it. I go for the portabella burger, which comes filled with hot cheese that burns your face when they're in too much of a rush to tell you that it's filled with hot cheese that burns your face (twice). The poutine is more expensive and less delicious than Poutini's, just a short skip away.
My one good time here was a weekend brunch, when I got some scrambled tofu plate, I don't know, I don't even remember, I'm so upset about the other times. See how that works, Melody Bar?
Oh, I also went once during a Saturday karaoke night, but the place was so incredibly packed, I can't imagine putting my name on the list to get a song in. I've already got my karaoke places, thank you very much.
So, I don't know, conscience. Go easy on the Gladstone Melody Bar? I want to, man. I do. For you. But I gotta tell it like it is. That's me, through and through, to the bitter end, muchacho.
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