Off the Map: Only Hostile Diners Eat at 9:15pm

Hanger Steak with Agrodolce Sauce -- Fig, Charleston, SC
Fig

If there is one surefire way to annoy Vodka and any of her compatriots before we even sit down to eat in your establishment, it is to give us a "late night" dinner reservation.

And then not even seat us on time.

We Are Essentially Sophia Petrillo. We Like an Early Bird Special

This is the problem that Vodka and Diet Coke face upon entering the final restaurant of their Charleston trip, Fig.  Despite the fact that Vodka made a reservation the day they became available, called twice to try to change it, and arrived in person the day before to sweet-talk them into seating us at, say, 5:00pm, we have a 9:15pm reservation.

9:15!  That's a solid hour past when we're even comfortable being outside!

We Only Like to Venture Out During Daylight Hours

Forging ahead, we stumble into Fig at 9:12pm, and we are told that our table is not yet ready.  We are led to the bar area to wait.

And to wait... and to WAIT.

And predictably, Vodka is becoming furious.

#1 Thing Vodka Hates to Do? WAIT

"Your table will be ready in a few minutes," a hostess tries to appease us, with which she is greeted by a silent nod by Diet Coke and a hostile glare from Vodka.

"The table where we're going to seat you has paid, but they're lingering," another hostess approaches a few minutes later.

"Can we go harass them?" Vodka asks.

"I mean, I can't encourage that, but I won't stop you...," the hostess replies, which would be a challenge Vodka would be prepared to meet had the hostess actually showed us which table was the one in flux, and not just skedaddled away at warp speed.

Hey Fig, It's Time to Start Comping Some Drinks Around Here

By 9:25pm, Vodka has decided that if we are not seated by 9:30, she is going to throw a complaining fit worthy of her New Jersey upbringing.  Free food and drinks and general bowing down best be involved.  After all, we discover from our time facing the Fig wall that the chef won the James Beard award in 2009.  FOUR years ago.  This is old news, now, Charleston -- WHY are you still grappling with seating issues?

SHAPE UP AND PULL YOURSELVES TOGETHER

Lucky for the entire Fig staff, they deign to seat us at 9:29pm, just as Vodka is placing one of her pointed witch boots on the floor to march off to the hostess stand.  We flop ourselves down at the table in a decidedly unpleasant manner, and all of the Southern geniality which has infused us over the past two days is certainly long-forgotten.

Goodbye Southern Charm. You Were Nice While We Knew Ya'll

It's barely been 20 minutes, and Fig is already demonstrating perfectly how restaurant mismanagement can hinder a diner's opinion of the place instantaneously.  Especially when said diner is as prone to annoyance as Vodka.

Time to Start Drinking. Heavily

Trying to soldier on, Vodka orders a glass of pinot noir ("Which one are you getting?" "Are there two?  Then the cheaper one") and attempts to use the restroom.  Upon reaching the area, she finds a line of people five-deep waiting for the individual stalls.

What is WRONG with this place? 

Refusing to wait for the second time in less than a half hour, Vodka stomps back to our table to complain about the bathroom situation to Diet Coke, who confirms that individual stalls are the bane of restaurants' existence due to the primping factor that goes on at the sink.  Poor showing, Fig.

We Don't Even Have Food Yet and We Already Dislike You

In an attempt to boost our own morale, we get down to ordering.  Not exactly starving after our full day of bar-b-que and hot dogs, Diet Coke asks how many gnocchi are in the appetizer.  "Nine," our waitress answers.  Deciding that this will not be enough for her entree, we order the gnocchi as an appetizer to share.

And when it arrives, there are only eight gnocchi.

Seriously, Fig?  Now you're messing with our pasta portions?

Go Ahead -- Count Them. ONE IS MISSING

"Disappointingly," said gnocchi are actually rather delicious ("I almost wanted them to be bad just cause this place is so awfully managed").  Draped in bolognese sauce with a hint of mint and shredded parmesan, the gnocchi themselves are light and fluffy.

Okay, Fine, Fig -- This Is Better Than We Thought You Were Capable Of

But You Still Cheated Us Out of a Gnocchi!

We enjoy them much more than we're prepared to, though we are less taken with the fact that instead of providing a bread BASKET (read: lots of bread), we are each handed a single slice by our waitress on which to gnaw.

Um, could you spare some more carbs, Fig?

Is There Some Kind of Flour Shortage in Charleston?

The bread is fine (though the butter is unsalted, and no salt shaker is on the table, which we can all agree is a travesty) -- generally nothing special, which besides the gnocchi, ends up being the theme of the night.  Diet Coke orders the fish stew with shrimp, mussels, squid, grits, and rouille, and Vodka orders the closest equivalent to the Best Thing I Ever Ate dish, the wagyu bistro steak with wheat berries, cape beans, sweet corn, salad verte, and sauce bordelaise.  It should come as no surprise that Fig is proving to be one of those restaurants we despise: one which, once featured on a national program entitled THE BEST THING I EVER ATE, promptly stops serving the dish on a regular basis.  For this reason, instead of Alex Guarnaschelli's chosen SAUCED dish, the hanger steak with agrodolce sauce, Vodka has to settle for the only other beef dish on the menu.  And when it comes to Fig, we are more than over having to settle.

Beef. The WRONG Beef, But Beef Nonetheless

We sit twiddling our thumbs as the clock strikes 10pm, then again 15 minutes later, and there are still no entrees in sight.  At this point, to say Fig is mismanaged time-wise would be the understatement of the century.  Nothing in this place flows smoothly, and whether it's because they take too many reservations for any given time or are too busy in the kitchen sawing off single slices of bread is unclear.  But the place is not working well.

This Restaurant Should Be Renamed "Customer Hostility R Us"

Finally, our dinners appear before us, at a time when we would be much more comfortable snuggled up to our pillows.  Diet Coke's fish stew is strictly "fine."  It has a hint of licorice flavor to the broth, which is odd, and the grits at the bottom of the pot are the least successful we have had so far, but there is nothing completely offensive.

A Cauldron of Fish Products

Naturally, Diet Coke Refused to Use the Provided Mayonnaise

Once Again, The Bread "Portion" Is Incredibly Lacking

Similarly, Vodka's fake Best Thing I Ever Ate creation is tasty enough.  A long strip of thinly cut beef sits next to a side salad (which proves to be the most flavorful thing on the plate) and a portion of beans, corns, and wheat berries (which is at least interesting in texture).

When the Side Salad Is the Most Appealing Part of a Plate, Something Is Wrong

The beef is cooked fairly well but still proves to be a bit chewy, and the sauce on top is good, but it is nothing we would think twice about in other circumstances.

"Who picked this place?" Diet Coke asks.

"Alex Guarnaschelli," Vodka answers.  "The same one who picked that caramel apple."

"She must have been drunk while in Charleston," Diet Coke surmises.  "Or so overtaken by the humidity that she wasn't thinking straight."

Also, Next Time She Should Specify That The Best Thing I Ever Ate Dish Has to STAY ON THE MENU

By the end of our meal, which has taken double the amount of time that it should have, we are convinced that had Fig provided us with, say, a 7:45pm reservation (and then actually seated us at that time), they would have done a lot better.  But by the time we reached our table, this place was doomed.

Fire Up Your Cannons, Fig -- We're Going to War

If one only had a single night to eat in Charleston, we would recommend Magnolias 100-times over this place, if only because it is classic Southern, while Fig is not even remotely unique.  Though to be fair, we'd probably skip dinner all together and just recommend Hominy Grill, because nothing says Southern goodness like a side of chocolate pudding for breakfast.

Fig's Hanger Steak with Agrodolce Sauce: 3 stars

Off the Map: If Tower of Terror Ever Opens a Restaurant...

Goa Fish -- Ambassador Dining Room, Baltimore, MD
Ambassador Dining Room

Nothing like scaring a busboy half to death to kick off a meal.

Vodka and Bloody Mary arrive at Ambassador Dining Room in Baltimore fifteen minutes before our 5:00 reservation hoping to locate a bar.  Instead, we find a completely empty restaurant situated beyond one of the top ten creepiest lobbies ever, as the Dining Room seems to be part of an apartment house.

What, Does No One Want to Eat Whole Fish Bodies Anymore?!

We stand at the hostess stand waiting for an employee to point us to the bar (of which we later learn there is none), and when a busboy finally emerges from the back, gripping a pitcher of water, he jumps a solid inch in the air at the sight of us.

Presumably He Thought the Ambassador Ghosts Had Finally Come to Haunt Him

He manages to pull it together long enough to send us back into the ghost-town of a lobby to wait for 5:00pm to arrive, which is where we decide that the Ambassador Apartments could rival the Omni Parker House on the eeriness scale.  Dark with overly large, old-fashioned furniture, the lobby even features an ominous wooden "Manager" sign hanging above a ringing telephone (with no such "Manager" in sight).

The place is striaght out of Disney World's Tower of Terror.

The "Manager" Actually Died 400 Years Ago.... OoOooo....

Based on all of this "ambiance," imagine our surprise when we are finally escorted to our table at the back of the dining room, only to find a full, lush garden out the windows and multiple fireplaces framing our seats.

What a difference twenty feet can make.

No Hitchhiking Ghosts in These Parts

The Only Thing This Hearth Is Missing Is a Cat Basking In Its Warmth

Settling in, we (finally) order some cocktails -- red wine for Vodka (a generous pour - thanks Ambassador) and a ginger-based drink for Bloody Mary (Ginger would be so proud).

Goblet of Wine Dwarfing the Cocktail

We also ask for Duff Goldman's chosen Best Thing I Ever Ate SAUCED dish, the goa fish (a whole pan-fried fish topped with roasted garlic, tamarind, and scallion), along with chicken tikka masala and naan.

This Looks Excessively Like Something Oscar the Grouch Would Wrap Up in His Newspaper

The Standard "Least Scary" Indian Dish for Weak Palates

Truth be told, we are not overly excited at the promise of dining on a whole fish -- we don't particularly like to work for our food, and such a presentation seems to dictate a lot of effort (what with all the fish bones and all).

Mom, Please Cut Up Our Food

As we wait for our fish slaughter, we sip contentedly at our drinks and watch the busboys add an ever-increasing number of lit candles to the room, including on the window fixtures above our heads.

Precarious Lighting Fixtures

"I wish those candles on the windows weren't lit," Vodka says, breaking the mood.  "I have highly flammable hair."  Before Vodka can catch on fire, our complimentary bread basket arrives, which is full of potato and pea-stuffed naan (which, because we are morons, we at first mistake for the plain naan we have ordered).

It All Kinda Looks the Same from the Outside Though, Doesn't It?

When our entrees are placed before us, we immediately have entirely too many plates on the table.  Between the whole fish, the chicken, each of our sides of rice and creamed spinach, and the plain naan, we barely know where to begin.

So Instead of Dealing with the Problem, We Do the Logical Thing: Drink More

Gingerly, Vodka begins peeling off pieces of the fish and handing them to Bloody Mary piecemeal.  The fish itself is, thankfully, airy, light, and easy to break apart.

One Fish Two Fish Me Fish You Fish

The white meat is soft and pleasing, if a bit bland, as the outer layer of sauce has remained almost strictly on the fish skin.

Pucker Up

When we manage to taste the sauce, we find it excessively like soy sauce - salty and garlicky, and thus, in Vodka's opinion, delicious.

The Better to See You With, My Dear

By some miracle, we manage to make it through most of the fish with only one bone issue (courtesy of Bloody Mary), and while the fish was better than we had expected, we are not blown away.

Though We Do Know How to Make a Plate of Food Look Horrible

Similarly, the chicken tikka masala is tasty, if completely standard as far as we can tell, and we enjoy the bread basket naan ten times more than the plain variety we had ordered .

Naan in Need of Some Garlic Salt

The sides of rice and creamed spinach (at least, we think the green stuff has derived from spinach) is especially good, most likely because it features a carb, and we love a carb.

What's With the Solitary Pea?!

While the food overall is tasty enough, it seems that the one thing the Ambassador Dining Room has going for it is its scenery, what with the garden, fireplaces, and candles.

That is, if you can make it through the lobby without being kidnapped by a ghost.

Ambassador Dining Room's Goa Fish: 3 stars

Put Down the Plate, Bread Boy

Spaghetti – Scarpetta
Scarpetta

Ginger has taken up Skinnygirl baking.  Following in the footsteps of Vodka, who has been teaching herself to cook via Bethenny Frankel’s cookbooks since last summer, Ginger arrives at Scarpetta for our next Best Thing I Ever Ate dinner armed with a moist Skinnygirl muffin.

“I’ve already eaten half the batch,” she admits.

A Picture That's Not Worth a Thousand Words

Upon tasting it, Vodka, who remains somewhat skeptical of the Skinnygirl dessert recipes, is astounded.  “This is Skinnygirl?!  It tastes so good!” she says.

“Yeah, I had to substitute fat ingredients wherever Bethenny said to use skinny,” Ginger confesses.  So there we have it.

We are escorted to our table at Scarpetta (once Vodka walked back and forth in front of the place four times – the restaurant name is not exactly paramount and Vodka is not exactly a genius).  Handed the wine list by our waiter (who, for the record, never disappears.  We’re looking at you, Cipriani Dolci), we are instantly confused.  We pretty much know how to order glasses of “Pinot Grigio” or “Pinot Noir.”  If wines are not called by these terms, we need English-to-English translation of the list.  Upon telling the waiter our desired preferences (“Wine that tastes like Pinot Grigio/Pinot Noir and is cheap”), we are provided with two glasses perfectly suited to our tastes.  Point number one, Scarpetta, for not making us feel like total morons.

With our wine comes the Greatest Bread Basket to Ever Exist on Earth.

No joke.

Unlike establishments (cough Balthazar cough) who charge you $16 for subpar bread, this heavenly bread basket is provided gratis, and it is comprised of approximately 87 varieties (or 4, but who’s counting?).  One of these varieties is Stromboli.  STROMBOLI.  We don’t even know the last time we have tasted the indulgence that is a loaf of pepperoni, cheese, and bread.  We are out of our minds with glee.

Best. Bread. Basket. Ever.

For the other breads, they give us a dish with three sauces (they tell us what they are, but our mouths are watering too heavily to comprehend).  The whole bread experience is not to be missed.  To be honest, we could have left then, content with our wine and bread appetizer.

The Bread Dips After Our Massacre of Them

Soldiering on, we order a polenta with truffled mushrooms to split as our appetizer, which is also OUT OF CONTROL good.  Neither of us being big followers of either polenta or mushrooms, we are blown away.  It is creamy and the flavors are nuanced, and it takes every ounce of self-control we have not to lick the bowl clean.

Who Knew Polenta Was So Delicious?

While clearing our polenta plate, a well-meaning busboy makes a move to take away Vodka’s bread plate, which she makes a dramatic effort to protect.

“Did you see the bread boy tried to take my plate?!” she whisper-yells across the table.

From this moment on, we are obsessed with referring to the poor soul as the "Bread Boy," because, after all, based on the quality of Scarpetta bread, it is his most important function.

For our entrees, Ginger, once again breaking rank, gets some sort of short rib ravioli-like pasta.  This, too, is great.

Non-Itinerary Pasta

Vodka, always a rule follower, orders the Best Thing I Ever Ate dish: Ted Allen’s SAUCED choice: spaghetti.  Now, Ted Allen had said not to scoff at the $24 price for a plate of spaghetti – that it really is that good.

Ted Allen doesn’t lie.

The spaghetti is presented in a compact sphere that is deceiving to its serving size – there’s actually quite a lot of it once you spread it out.

Optical Illusion Pasta Portion

The pasta noodles are thick, round, and cooked to perfection, coated with a subtle hint of tomato sauce and basil (Vodka hates over-saucing, so this pasta-to-sauce proportion is ideal).

Al Dente Much?

Much too soon, our plates and wine glasses are empty, and we are headed out of Scarpetta and away from the Best Full Meal We Have Eaten (So Far).

Scarpetta’s Spaghetti (plus bread basket): 5 stars*

*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate