The Red Cat
"I mean, I know we can be kind of annoying, but the Bread Boy didn't even smile at us!"
To say the least, things at The Red Cat are not going well.
We probably should have known walking into the place that we were in for a bit of trouble for a couple of reasons:
|By the Way, Who Paints Their Cat Crimson?|
1. It has taken us over two years to eat here because they have refused to keep the Best Thing I Ever Ate dish on the menu consistently (one of our top pet peeves), and even more tellingly,
2. Vodka was CHASED down the street by a psychic just prior to entering the place. Said psychic was brandishing a business card and insisting that Vodka had a "a beautiful aura," a fact which a member of any waitstaff in New York City could wholeheartedly dispute.With a start like this, things at the The Red Cat are bound to be amiss.
|Naturally, Though, We Are Seated at the Date Table, So Things Are Looking Up|
|Vodka Apologizes for Abandoning Her Previous Alcohol of Choice, But It's Always Gin O'Clock Somewhere|
|We Prefer to Toast Ourselves with Hard Liquor|
"What is it?" Vodka finally indulges her after one too many seconds of letting her look certifiable.
"Clearly, I'm missing something," Ginger says, pointing to an entree on the menu: oven-roasted kid.
"That's goat," Vodka says, suddenly losing all sense of the absurd. "Not a child."
|The Red Cat Likes to Sacrifice Second Graders|
Deciding against gnawing on a preschooler for dinner, we choose a sweet pea ravioli special to share, along with the baked goat cheese casserole and bacon tempura salad as appetizers. Now, the actual Best Thing I Ever Ate dish which Ted Allen chose on the TOTALLY FRIED episode was tempura bacon by itself, but its reemergence on the menu has come along with cabralese, apple, watercress, and smoked paprika aioli. Apparently, The Red Cat is no longer as confident in the merits of its deep-fried bacon as a standalone dish.
|Um, Where's the Bacon?|
|Let the Hostility Commence|
|Well, That, And Us Not Knowing How to Work the Salt Shakers|
|Restaurants Need to Start Providing Us with Bells With Which to Summon Bread Boys|
|That Was a Good Game of Hide and Seek, Bacon|
|In Other Words, Blech|
|Tis a Far, Far Worse Thing to Ruin a Salad with Bacon...?|
|...Or to Ruin Bacon with a Salad?|
|For the Love of Goat Cheese, Someone Bring Us a Loaf!|
|So Much Cheese, So Little on Which to Spread It|
And there is NO ONE to be found.
appease ourselves temporarily by consuming the sweet pea ravioli,
which, while the best item of the three, is still not all that
stupendous. The pasta itself is thin and nicely cooked, but the ravioli
are stuck together in one solid mass, which impedes proper
pea mixture inside the ravioli pockets is pleasing enough. But the
sauce that is spread over top, which looks like a brown butter
concoction, is sickeningly sweet when we taste it solo, and, naturally,
we would have preferred salty.
|Look, We'll Bake the Bread Ourselves If We Need To, People|
|Essentially, It's One Giant Ravioli|
Especially because we are now out of bread AND drinks.
And there is still NO ONE to help us.
a solid ten minutes (no exaggeration) pass, and we can still be found
lingering over our empty (save for the cheese casserole) plates and
glasses, Vodka accosts a random worker and requests that he find our
waitress. Seemingly unable to locate her, this man takes our order for
refreshed cocktails and brings us a dessert menu, while Ginger
practically mugs the bread boy's basket in search of more bread (which
he eventually hands over, albeit begrudgingly).
Finally, our waitress deigns to grace us with her
presence, of which our general reaction is "Get us our drinks and some
blueberry pie. Stat." Our refills and dessert make it to our table a
few minutes later, and by this point, we are decidedly more hostile than
when we arrived. After all, if there is any surefire way to put us in a
bad mood quickly, denying us more bread AND cocktails is it.
We ask for the check, and try to use our failing math
skills to attempt to figure out what would be considered a "bad" tip,
being that our waitress disappeared for at least half an hour of our meal
(however, because we never properly learned how to calculate percentages, we
end up giving her like 18%. We're such rebels).
In the meantime, we
stab our spoons into the dessert, of which the buttermilk ice cream and
accompanying crumble is rather delicious, but the mini-blueberry pie
itself is not impressive (though the best reason we can come up
with for the reason behind this disaster is "The blueberries taste
We pour the remainder of our cocktails into our mouths
and stumble outside, remarking loudly to one another, "I am not
impressed with this place."
And there is still NO ONE to help us.
|Empty Glasses and Bread Plates Over Here!|
|Service with a Smile... NOT|
|Don't You Want to Make More Money Off of Us, Waitress? Bring Us the Booze!|
|There Is a Reason We Didn't Major in Calculus|
|Perhaps Because of That Weird Smear of Ketchup on the Plate|
And, needless to say, not a single staff member compliments our beautiful auras on our way out.
The Red Cat's Tempura Bacon: 2 stars