Sig Fig: “I feel like I just lost an article of clothing.”
Sig Fig: “I feel like we came in, and they took my pants, charged me a lot of money, and then told us to go away.”
Faithful readers may recall that we’ve been to OM once before, with pretty positive results. The chef did an amazing thing with tofu on that occasion, and the fact that they do a veggie meal once a week and a vegan wine dinner once a month (we’ve yet to be able to attend the latter, though I still totally want to) is extremely heartening.
Thus, despite her better judgment (which I will henceforth bow to in all things culinary), the Sig Fig agreed to let me make a reservation at OM for their special Valentine’s Day pre fixe, which included a vegetarian entree.
Now, I know this was a special occasion and that they were certainly dealing with a higher volume of customers than an ordinary weekday, but service was still pretty slow. Some member of the wait staff cleared our plates after each course in a timely fashion, yes, and once again we had approximately twelve people waiting on us at various times, but they really needed to pick up the pace from course to course.
The appetizers were tiny, and the Sig Fig was bored with hers. (I’m told the croutons tasted the way they must before you put them in the oven–kind of stale and oily.) Mine was quite tasty, and made me excited about scallops for the first time since I was twelve. But, again, tiny. So I got super hungry waiting (and waiting, and waiting some more) for my entree to come. They could have at least refilled our popcorn, which was, again, probably the highlight of the meal.
Ah, the entrees.
When one orders “Vegetables en papillote,” one does, indeed, expect vegetables in a bag. But when one orders this as an entree on what is billed as the most romantic night of the year, one also expects, oh, I don’t know, flavor. Or maybe some protein. Or at the very least, salt.
Instead, the Sig Fig got a lump of steamed brown rice, three vegetables, and a couple of soy beans. With no sauce. No seasoning. No salt. Also, one of the carrots still had its stem. And dirt.
My entree was disappointing, although the rice bag (as I will now be calling my girlfriend) really wins the prize. Mine was just exceptionally tiny, and yielded approximately two bites each of chicken, mushrooms, and spinach. The sauce was delightful, and made me wish that I had, you know, something to put it on.
Dessert was small but would have been adequate with an otherwise good meal, and by this point we were talking exclusively about what we were supposed to do after a meal so terrible. I really wonder how much the people sitting on either side of us heard, because we were seated quite close together. Ultimately we decided that I would ask for a comment card, and if they didn’t have one I would raise a stink. This isn’t something I like to do, but in the past it’s had favorable results–the waitress at The Alchemist last time totally agreed with our assessment of the vegetarian offerings, and made us feel a lot better about things in general.
Anyway, long story short–I called the vegetarian entree, frankly, pathetic (Sig Fig swears I raised my voice and hit Frankly a little too hard), then a man we both doubt was actually the manager came over and the Sig Fig took over brilliantly (“I mean, could we have like twelve bucks back to order pizza?”) and we left with plans to purchase said pizza and drink the rest of a bottle of very nice wine at home.
(Also, I am computer inept, so if someone can tell me how to get my damn photobucket picture to show up any smaller, I would really appreciate that. Kthxbye.)